Bring Me To Life
by LornaWinters
Summary: Cadet Taurik, from the episode, "Lower Decks," decides to take an Egyptology elective class over his summer break. He ends up learning a great deal more about mummies than he anticipated.
1. The Big Easy

"Come on, Taurik. It'll be fun. Besides, you said you wanted to know more about human culture, and this is the perfect opportunity." Sam Lavelle was a year ahead of Taurik in Starfleet Academy. They had been best friends ever since Taurik's first day of classes. They were discussing where to go on their last weekend before summer break. "New Orleans is a city like no other, I'm telling you, man."

"I confess your description of this city intrigues me, Sam," the Vulcan stated calmly, which was a sharp contrast to Lavelle's excited emotional state. "And since you are closed to any other options, I will concede."

"You won't regret this. You'll be a different man after you leave 'The Big Easy.'"

"Somehow," Taurik answered, "I doubt that."

Sam Lavelle knew his roommate well enough to notice that Taurik had a bit of a sarcastic streak, at least for a Vulcan. If he really objected to going to New Orleans, he would have said so. Ever since Taurik had stumbled—literally stumbled—over one of Sam's books about the Crescent City, that mysterious place had fascinated him. He had picked up the book, which had carelessly been left on the floor of their dorm, and could not put it down after that. Upon discovery of Taurik's interest in his book, Sam vowed he would take his friend there and show him around at the first opportunity.

"So are you really taking an Egyptology class this summer?" Sam asked on the way. "What brought that on? I mean, that's the last thing I thought you'd be interested in."

"The ancient Egyptian culture is similar to some of the ancient Vulcan cultures," Taurik explained. "I wish to understand the comparisons and contrasts."

"Ok, that makes sense," Sam nodded. He could be logical when he wanted to be. "You think they'll let you dig around for stuff?"

"Digging is not a part of this course," Taurik said. "However, there is a student there who is currently in the process of obtaining permission to excavate a site that is believed to have some potential. I have been accepted as a member of the team."

"Nice work, Taurik." Sam smiled.

"Thank you," he replied. "What are your plans for the summer?"

"Me? I'm going to get in some desperately needed R&R, that's for sure. Then I need to take care of the obligatory family visits, et cetera. You know, this is going to be my first summer off in five years?" Sam had worked hard in high school and in Starfleet Academy. He desperately wanted to excel in his career, and was willing to go to great lengths to achieve his goals. Taurik admired Sam's dedication.

"I would say you have earned it, Sam," his friend answered.

* * *

It was damp and muggy when they arrived in the Vieux Carré. The sun was just above the horizon. The sounds of chattering people and jazz music floated on the moist evening breeze. Taurik's nose was assaulted by the variety of aromas all around him. Not all of the smells were good. What was that awful stench? Perhaps it was best not to inquire.

"_Laissez les bons temps rouler_, eh, Taurik?" Sam inhaled deeply. "Do you smell that? That makes me hungry." Surely Sam was detecting something else, and not that terrible miasma that was testing the limits of Taurik's control over his stomach's reflexes? And then he caught a whiff of cooking oil, as well as the food that was being fried in it. It was much easier on his nose. The concept of eating began to appeal to him again.

"Where do you wish to eat?" Taurik asked, since Sam was the one showing him around.

"Let's go here," Sam said, indicating the nearest restaurant, called Sisko's. Taurik noted the chalkboard sign on the sidewalk. It read: _Today's Special: Vegetarian Red Beans and Rice. Try it and your taste buds will dance. Yeah, das right!_ They entered the establishment and were promptly shown to their table. The lights were dim, and Taurik found it was uncomfortably cool compared to the outdoors.

An enormous alligator was suspended from the ceiling. Sam's eyes widened and his mouth opened when he saw it. "Do you think it's real?" he asked.

"It appears to be," Taurik confirmed.

An elderly, yet feisty man brought out their dinner. "You two are in for a real treat this evening, Cadets. My particular specialty, shrimp creole, for you," he set the plate down in front of Sam. "And for you," he gave the other plate to Taurik. "Several Vulcan friends of mine have said that this is their favorite dish."

"Thank you, sir," Taurik answered politely.

"You know," the elder said proudly, "I have a son in Starfleet. Commander Benjamin Sisko. Do you know him?"

"I'm afraid we don't, sir," Sam answered.

"Maybe someday you'll meet him," he said with a smile. "Bon appétit." With that, he went back to the kitchen.

Sam took his first bite and rolled his eyes back. "I've died and gone to heaven!"

Having lived on Earth for one year, nine months, three weeks, five days, and nineteen hours, Taurik was accustomed to the human tendency to exaggerate. "I take that to mean you find your supper appetizing?"

"I think it's the best thing I've ever tasted, Taurik!" Sam exclaimed. "How's yours?"

"It is most tasteful," he concurred, "Obviously, a considerable amount of time and thought went into the preparation of this dish. It is easy to understand why Mr. Sisko's Vulcan friends prefer it." In truth, it was the best thing Taurik could recall tasting in a long time, perhaps ever, but there was no need to embellish the facts.

"Having had the most incredible meal of my life," Sam said with a satisfied sigh as they exited the restaurant, "I think it's time to take in some of the nightlife. What do you say?"

"Everything here is new to me, so wherever you choose to take me is acceptable. My one caveat is that I would prefer to avoid the infamous Bourbon Street," the Vulcan said firmly.

"No problem. I really don't feel like getting tore up this time," Sam said with an embarrassed wince.

"_This_ time?" Both of Taurik's eyebrows went all the way to his hairline.

"Well, you know…" Sam trailed off.

The Vulcan shook his head disapprovingly. "No, I do not." Taurik decided to leave it at that. He could only imagine what kind of trouble Sam had gotten into the previous times he was here. On second thought, he did not want to imagine.

"Hey, I know the perfect place." Sam snapped his fingers. "Don't worry, Taurik, it's not anywhere crazy. You'll like it. You can study more of the architecture."

Sam and Taurik crossed the wanton chaos and stupefaction that was Rue Bourbon and continued down the way. As the distance from the derangement increased, the noise decreased. They eventually came to a small jazz club on a quieter street. The only objection was that there was an excess of cigarette smoke. Other than that, it was much more preferable to some of the other more shady public houses they had passed.

They grabbed some chairs near the stage and ordered a few drinks. Sam was right. This place did have a historic charm to it. It must have been hundreds of years old. The floors creaked when they walked, and their chairs creaked as well. The long mirrors behind the bar reflected the soft flickering lights. At one time, this building must have been exquisitely fashionable.

The host came out onto the stage from behind the shabby curtain. "I know it's hot outside, but I'm going to turn up the heat inside, too. This next singer is one of our own New Orleans ladies. She's so hot, she makes steam look cool. You know what they say: 'If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen!' We have the water hose on standby just in case, though," he winked. "Give it up for Miss Marianne Broussard!"

The crowd applauded as an attractive young woman walked up to the chair on the stage. Sam put his fist in his mouth and gawked at Taurik. "Sam, you are drawing attention to yourself," the Vulcan warned, "the _wrong _type of attention." Sam immediately recovered his wits and sat up straight in his chair.

The music began and the woman snapped her fingers to the jazzy rhythm.

_You give me fever_

_When you kiss me_

_Fever when you hold me tight_

_Fever_

_In the morning_

_Fever all through the night_

Taurik had to admit, at least to himself, that she was indeed pleasing to the eye. She had flawless golden skin and liquid brown eyes. Her tawny-colored ringlets of hair were neatly tied out of her face. She had an exceptional voice, he noted. He was thankful that he was a self-mastered Vulcan; otherwise his reaction to her would have likely been similar to Sam's ridiculous frenzy.

_Now give me fever_

_When were kissin'_

_Fever with that flame in you_

_Fever_

_I'm on fire_

_Fever yeah I burn for you_

As she sang that verse, she looked directly at Taurik. Before he realized it, he had raised an eyebrow. She responded by mimicking his expression. She then smiled and continued her song, no doubt amused that she had gotten an emotional response, albeit only a subtle one, from a Vulcan. He suddenly felt Sam nudge him in the ribs. "I think she likes you, Taurik, you sly dog," he said.

"I do not think I will ever understand the human need to overstate matters," he said.

"If you say so," Sam said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

_You give me fever_

_When you kiss me_

_Fever if you really learned_

_Fever_

_Till you sizzlin'_

_But what a lovely way to burn_

_What a lovely way to burn_

_Oh, what a lovely way to burn_

The customers erupted into boisterous approval when she finished. After the whistling and carrying on at last stopped, he glanced back over to his companion. Sam was still grinning deviously at him. The Vulcan inwardly lamented. He would never hear the end of it now. His roommate would assuredly tease him about "fever" and "the seven year itch" for the duration of the weekend at least. But Taurik took solace in the fact that summer break was about to commence. He estimated that the chances of Sam forgetting about the matter over the three month adjournment were approximately fifty percent.

Taurik quickly went to sleep not long after they checked into their hotel. The fantastic sights, sounds, tastes, and unfortunately smells of their traipse through the French Quarter were spinning slowly around in his head. As illogical as it was, New Orleans did appear to possess a certain sense of mystery and magic. Though it was completely irrational, of course, Taurik had to admit that Sam's book had managed to describe the city perfectly.

**(Just in case it's necessary to say so, I don't own the Fever song, or Star Trek, etc.)**


	2. Expedition Up the Nile

**I forgot to say in Chapter 1, thanks to BewilderedFemale for the idea of using Taurik in this story. And thank you, 0afan0 for your invaluable feedback and suggestions!  
**

Cadet Taurik arrived in Cairo on Monday. Egypt was a dramatic change from New Orleans. It was much hotter, and it was arid instead of muggy. And this was a much older place, thousands of years older. He was reminded of his own home on Vulcan. Perhaps next summer he should follow Sam's example and go back there over the break instead of taking another class. For now, however, he would focus on his chosen studies.

Cairo: "The City of a Thousand Minarets," it was aptly nicknamed. From the nearest tower, he could hear the _muezzin_ calling the followers of Islam to their prayers. That was a drastic contrast to the angelus bells he had heard coming from the cathedral at Jackson Square that morning. Yes, humans certainly had fascinating religious customs.

Taurik stepped out of the midday heat and into the shady courtyard of the student dorm building. His room was on the second floor, and it opened up onto a verandah, with intricately adorned arches, which surrounded the inner patio. He was only going to stay there that night, as he had to catch the boat to Luxor in the morning. The enclosure was apparently deserted at the moment, so he went down and sat under the palm trees to meditate.

Later that afternoon, Taurik went back out to go to the Egyptian Museum, where he was to meet his fellow students. The streets were bustling with boisterous people and animals. He made his way down the lane, through the noise, hustle, and assorted commotion. From a nearby street vendor came the aroma of baking pita bread and simmering soup. His stomach rumbled. He would obtain nourishment after his appointment, he decided.

At last he arrived at the museum. In the lobby, another cadet was waiting for him, a Benzite. Taurik did not know enough about that species to be able to tell the gender of the individual. When the cadet saw him, he/she stood up a smiled. "You must be Cadet Taurik," the voice sounded feminine. "I am Hoya. Welcome to Cairo. A most stimulating place, isn't it?"

"Thank you, Cadet Hoya," he said, "And yes, this city is indeed intriguing."

"I'll show you to Dr. Wasem's office," she stated, "if you will please follow me."

Taurik held his hands behind his back as he followed Hoya. She led him to the non-public area of the museum. "Cadet Taurik is here, Dr." Hoya said.

Dr. Wasem spun around in her chair to face the doorway. "Taurik," she greeted with a small smile, "Come in, come in. Have a seat."

"Thank you again for allowing me this opportunity, Dr. Wasem," said Taurik.

"You're quite welcome. I think this will be an informative semester for us all. You two are the first non-humans to take this class."

"I'm curious to see how this will play out," said Hoya eagerly.

Dr. Wasem's expression became serious as she turned to Taurik. "I'll be frank with you about this side expedition of yours, Cadet," she said, looking up at him through her glasses. "I don't agree with her theories, but there isn't enough evidence to prove her wrong, and she's quite tenacious. She's one of my top students, so I'm indulging her. My point is, don't expect a lot to come out of this project."

"I understand, Doctor." Taurik said.

"I suggest you make the arrangements for your trip with her today, or she might leave you behind tomorrow morning," the professor said. "You'll find her in the library, taking last-minute notes before she leaves, no doubt."

"Yes, Dr. Thank you," he said, standing up to leave.

"See you in two weeks, Cadet," she smiled.

Taurik dipped his head and left to make his way toward the library. As it was nearing the end of the day, the room was deserted. His superior Vulcan hearing picked up a slight shuffling noise, along with soft humming, coming from the back of the stacks. That would be his unacquainted colleague, no doubt. When he reached the aisle in question, he looked up. Standing at the top of a tall ladder was a beautiful young human woman. _Fascinating_, thought Taurik. He would have recognized the singer from New Orleans anywhere.

"Ms. Broussard?" he addressed her from the bottom. Startled, she nearly fell backwards. Taurik quickly grasped the ladder in order to steady it, and carefully leaned it back against the bookshelf.

"Oh, thank you," she said with relief. "For a moment, I pictured myself crashing into this shelf, which probably would have caused the rest of these shelves to topple over like dominoes. Then they would never let me back in here again." She giggled nervously.

"That may or may not be a correct assumption," he commented.

"Wait," she suddenly realized, "how did you know my name? Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"Yes, you saw me this past Friday as a spectator at a jazz club in the Vieux Carré," he said. "I know your name because it was announced before you came onto the stage. I am Cadet Taurik, a transfer student from Starfleet Academy."

"Oh…" she blinked pensively. "Well," she said as she slid down the ladder, "it's nice to have you along, but you'd better keep up and pull your weight."

"I assure you I have every intention of doing so," he assured her. "I am curious as to whether your theory about the existence of Hamunaptra is correct or not," he said bluntly. "All of the authorities on the subject disagree with you."

"Some of the greatest finds in history have been discovered by people no one else believed in, Cadet," she pointed out confidently.

"That is true," he conceded. "Am I correct in assuming that your claims are inspired by the works of Evelyn O'Connell?"

"Inspired, yes," said Marianne, "but my work is based primarily on evidence from archeological finds and references in the ancient texts."

"Indeed?" Taurik asked, intrigued. His first encounter with Marianne Broussard had given him no indication that she was such a rational and scholarly woman. In fact, his impression was that she was nothing more than a coquette.

"Everyone says that Evelyn O'Connell was a quack, but I know I can prove otherwise," she insisted passionately.

Taurik was about to respond when the security guard approached. "Excuse me, Mademoiselle Broussard," he said, "but we closed ten minutes ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Labib. We're just leaving now."

When they walked outside, the streets were not as noisy and crowded as they had been earlier. The sun was descending to the horizon. "Hey, have you eaten yet?" Marianne asked.

"I have not."

"I'm meeting the third member of our team for dinner. Why don't you come along?"

"Your proposition is acceptable," Taurik said, interiorly relieved that he would be able to eat at last. He followed her to a small café not far down the street. The same smell of bread and soup filled his nose again. At one of the tables sat a human man, whom Taurik guessed was from either the European or North American continent.

"What did you do, stop for hookah? I've been waiting half an hour," the man said indignantly when he saw them. "And who's the Vulcan?"

Without bothering to explain herself, Marianne proceeded to make the introductions. "John Norris, this is Cadet Taurik from Starfleet. He's our other teammate for the dig."

"Yeah, how ya doin.' Can we eat now, please?" Taurik noticed the similarities between John and his roommate, Sam, so he deduced that he was from North America.

"Don't mind him, Taurik," Marianne told him as they sat down. "Johnny always gets cranky when he's hungry." They promptly ordered their food. John and Marianne ordered shawarma pitas, while Taurik had lentil soup with a side of hummus and falafel. The finished their meal with Turkish coffee and baklava.

"What time and where should I meet you, Mr. Norris?" Taurik asked after they had eaten.

"Call me Johnny," he insisted. As Marianne had predicted, "Johnny" was almost a different person, now that he was no longer ravenous. "We'll be at dock number ten at 5am sharp. Don't be late."

"Vulcans are always in the habit of being punctual, _Johnny_," Taurik informed him. "Good evening," he wished them. He wandered back to his hotel. The sun had already gone down, and the night breeze was starting to cool things off a bit. It had been a rather fatiguing day. Another assault on the senses, but once again quite informative.

* * *

The next morning, Taurik was at the dock at exactly 4:55 am. Marianne arrived at 5:05, and Johnny dawdled up at a tardy 5:10. The Vulcan at first thought he would call attention to his colleague's failure to arrive at his own directed time, but then he thought better of it.

Marianne had arrived with coffee for the three of them. It was a thoughtful gesture. Taurik, of course, did not require caffeine in order to wake up. He accepted the cup, however, when it was handed to him. Marianne's golden cheeks were glowing and her lovely brown eyes sparkled with the reflection of the early morning light. If he refused, she would frown, and he did not wish to see that.

They boarded the boat and before long they were off, sailing up the Nile to Luxor. The journey would take approximately twenty-three hours. Taurik could not make an exact calculation, as he was unfamiliar with some of the factors. It was the first time he had ever been on a boat. How absorbing it was, he thought, that time itself seemed to revolve around the rhythms and whims of the river.

As they traveled south, the heat would increase. That did not bother Taurik; in fact it would be a welcome change from the other cooler parts of Earth he had been staying at since he came. He surmised that Marianne and John would not appreciate it so much, however. He stood on the upper deck and watched as the boat passed by a herd of hippos. Almost without warning, the rosy twilight burst into brilliant dawn.

"Isn't it wondrous?" asked Marianne sentimentally, leaning on the railing. Her amber curls were lit up by the aurora.

"It is," Taurik concurred, observing her intently.

"Wow!" John suddenly stopped as he was coming up the deck stairs. "You look gorgeous, Marianne. Like Isis or something," John voiced what Taurik realized he was thinking himself.

"Oh, Johnny," she rolled her eyes, "will you _please_ be serious?"

"Ok, ok," he held his hands up, "I'm just saying…Bah! I'm going to go find some breakfast," he stormed off.

"It would appear that John has amorous intentions toward you," Taurik remarked phlegmatically.

"Nah, he's not for me," Marianne waved her hand as though she were shooing away a fly. "He's not at all the type of man I'm looking for."

"Indeed?" he asked, his curiosity awakened. "What type of man are you looking for?"

Marianne thought for a moment. "I would like a man who could be wicked, but instead chose not to be," she said dreamily.

Taurik raised an eyebrow and shook his head, "You have an overactive imagination, Ms. Broussard." There was the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Let me guess," she said, raising a mocking brow in return, "you think I should just repress it and let it stagnate inside me?"

"That is not what I think," he calmly corrected her. "I mean that you have the ability to become more than you are, more than most other humans I have known, in fact. You can achieve a great deal if you learn to develop and better control your mental facilities."

Her mouth opened in wonder. "Why, Mr. Taurik," she blinked, "did you just complement me?"

"I was merely stating a fact," he said ostensibly, "but I suppose you may take it that way if it pleases you."

Her face lit up with a radiant smile. "That is the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

"Your inclination toward exaggeration could use some tempering as well," he added.

"Very well," she said, sobering herself, "what do you suggest?"

"I suggest you write," the Vulcan answered. "It is obvious that you read a lot, and that is a good start. However, you will actualize mastery if you learn to use language yourself instead of merely reading the words of others."

"I already write quite a bit," she said.

"Academically yes," the Vulcan said, perfectly patient, as he joined his hands together, "but that will do little to discipline your emotional side. I suggest you write fiction."

"You don't think that's frivolous escapism?" she asked in disbelief.

"It has been my observation that humans use fiction in order to deal with emotions, but also subjects that are considered to be taboo, or otherwise subconsciously uncomfortable. There are many important issues that must be resolved, such as the subject of mortality, for example. Sometimes a fantasy setting is the only way for humans to comfortably think about these types of questions. Therefore, the answer is no, I do not think it would be frivolous for you to write fiction."

She blinked again as she processed his words, and then gave him a partially restrained smile. "That's very logical advice, Mr. Taurik. I'll take it."

"Good," he said, "I look forward to reading your first story."

Her eyes widened. "You want to read what I write?"

"I believe that is the point of the exercise."

"Alright," she said reluctantly.

John called to them from the bottom of the stairs, "Are you two coming to breakfast or not?"

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. The students passed the time on the lower deck, as their cabins were too small for anything other than sleeping. Had he been alone, Taurik would have chosen to stay on the upper deck. His companions, however, preferred to stay out of the blazing midday sun. They started out playing Hearts with a deck of cards they found lying around.

After a lunch of harira soup and dates, the trio of associates mentally went their separate ways. John fell asleep in his chair, while Taurik and Marianne took the opportunity to catch up on their studies. Every so often, Taurik found himself stealing glances across the table. Marianne was engrossed in her work, and took no notice of the Vulcan observing her. As the afternoon wore on and grew hotter, she started to nod off. John continued to snore heavily.

Though they had done practically nothing all day, they unanimously agreed to turn in early that evening, as the boat would be docking at Luxor around four in the morning.

"Good night, Ms. Broussard," Taurik said before she entered her room, which was between his and John's. And then it occurred to him that perhaps, like other humans from the North American continent, Marianne may not have liked being addressed so formally.

"Good night, Cadet Taurik," she smiled, with a twinkle in her eyes. No, she was from the southern region, he recalled. Most of the humans from there preferred more genteel mannerisms. It was yet another quality for him to admire about her. However, he had not forgotten that she was also quite flirtatious. She had succeeded in stirring him twice already, but he was determined that it would not happen again.

* * *

Marianne sighed longingly as she collapsed onto her bed that night. It had been a long day, but she was anything but tired. _You have the ability to become more than you are, more than most other humans I have known, in fact…_ That was high praise indeed coming from a Vulcan. But he wanted to read whatever it was she was going to write. He would rip it to shreds! Or maybe, he would not. Taurik's criticism so far was constructive, but also tactful. He seemed to respect the fact that humans were passionate beings, and tailored his remarks accordingly. He would be nice about it, she decided.

But what was that reaction to her description of her dream beau? It was the second time she had gotten an emotional response out of him. It was only a slight reflex, but it did not escape her notice. He was vexed. But why? Her fanciful mind naturally wanted to think that it was because he had "amorous intentions toward her" himself. If that were the case, Taurik could have been displeased that her description did not characterize him. The thought made her giggle into her pillow.

Marianne had always thought that Vulcans were rather handsome, in an elfin sort of a way. But the fact that they strongly rejected emotion of any sort just as quickly turned her off. A relationship with a Vulcan would probably be dreadfully dull. And then there was Johnny, the exact opposite of insensitivity. She felt guilty for rejecting him; it was like kicking a dog. But she had no interest whatsoever in getting into a relationship with him.

Taurik was not her type of man, either, but Marianne shamelessly enjoyed the fact that he evidently had a crush on her, too. That he was a supposedly dispassionate Vulcan was the best part.


	3. Rahat el Ajam

**A huge thanks to the Mad Hatter for that awesome and brilliant review! I'm quite impressed, I must say! And of course thank you to 0afan0, BewilderedFemale, and "A reader" for your reviews.**

Taurik was nearly finished meditating the following morning when he heard Marianne in her cabin on the other side of the wall, singing.

_Près des remparts de Séville  
Chez mon ami Lillas Pastia,  
J'irai danser la seguedille  
Et boire du Manzanilla,_

_J'irai chez mon ami Lillas Pastia._

_From_ Carmen, _by Georges Bizet_, he thought. Marianne certainly had a pleasant voice. _And she is well aware of that fact,_ he expected. There was a knock at the door. "Taurik, are you up yet?" Johnny demanded. Judging from the tone of his voice, his confrere had not eaten yet.

Without answering, Taurik opened the door. Johnny started. "Oh! Good," he said. "Let's get 'Carmencita' and go." He tapped on her door. "Marianne? C'mon, you can dance and drink manzanilla on the way to the site!"

"Just a minute," she called from inside. It was more than a single minute. After four minutes and twenty-two seconds, she appeared finally, looking as radiant as ever. She was dressed in loose robes, as many of the other women in Egypt that Taurik had seen. _A wise precaution_ _for her, considering the climate,_ thought the Vulcan.

"Good morning, Cadet," Marianne greeted him sweetly.

"Good morning, Miss Broussard," the Vulcan said. He decided that he would follow the Southern custom and start addressing her as "miss" rather than "ms."

The three had a brief, light breakfast—to Johnny's vocalized dismay—and disembarked for the market to obtain their supplies. They would have to camp, as there were no lodgings near the dig site. Because there was no road to the location, either, camels would be required for travel. _Interesting creatures_, Taurik contemplated the animals.

As it was just past five in the morning, there were not many people about. The vendors were beginning to set out their wares. Fortunately, enough of the merchants had arrived to enable them to obtain the necessary provisions and dromedaries. The thought of riding one of those beasts did not entirely appeal to Taurik, but there appeared to be no other alternative. Starfleet, as well as the rest of Earth, had no interest whatsoever in developing this primitive corner of the planet. As a result, travel was slow. _That is probably why Hamunaptra has not been re-discovered sooner, assuming it exists_, he thought.

While John got the supplies, Marianne met with the diggers. Nineteen men had been persuaded to join the crew. All was nearly ready.

"Let's get a snack for the road," Johnny insisted. He turned, and nearly bumped into a young Egyptian woman.

"You are seeking Hamunaptra," she said, folding her arms. It was not a question.

"Yeah, so? What's it to you?"

"I am Qismah, daughter of our leader, Saleh ibn Ardeth Bay," she said with dignity that smacked of some kind of noble prophetess. Though most of her features were hidden, it was obvious that she was comely lady.

"Ok, nice to meet you." Johnny's patience was nearly spent. "What can I do for you?"

Qismah glanced around at the three of them. "There is a prophecy among the Medjai: the victim of the Hom Dai will arise for the third time at the whim of one who is not of this world," she glared at Taurik, who frowned back at her disapprovingly. "And, as has always been the case, it will be by the hand of a woman," she said as she pointed to Marianne.

"Look lady," Johnny butted in—nothing was going to get between him and his vittles, "we're not planning to raise the dead. We're on an expedition for knowledge, for history."

Qismah blinked at him for a moment. "You all have been warned," she announced finally, "and we, the Medjai, are watching you."

"What a fanatic!" Johnny said, waving a hand after her as she rode away on her horse.

"She appears to be attracted to you, Johnny," Taurik commented, taking a page from Sam Lavelle.

John narrowed his eyes at the Vulcan, but said nothing. Instead, he made his way in the direction of the snack vendor.

Marianne giggled, "Mr. Taurik, for shame."

The Vulcan's brow went up. "Indeed," he responded, holding his hands behind him, his face completely passive. He gestured for her to go first, and they followed John to the street food cart.

Before long, they were off, headed westward into the barren wilderness. Taurik rapidly became acquainted with his camel and the necessary commands. "Her name is Khadijah," the herder had told him. She was a most agreeable animal, and readily obeyed his wishes.

At precisely 05:58 hours, Taurik noted, the sun rose. The features of the desert around them, though sparse, were bathed in brilliant light. Marianne joyfully began to sing again.

_Wake from your sleep, all you weary ones_

_Who are weary of the night_

_Look to the east, all you dreary ones, _

_Who are waiting for the light _

_Dawn is breaking and a new day is born, _

_The world is singing the song of the dawn _

_Birds are waking to welcome the dawn _

_Birds are singing the song of the dawn_

"If the sunrise moves you to that extent, perhaps that is what you should write about," Taurik suggested, guiding his camel closer to hers.

Marianne flashed a gorgeous smile at him, and he willed his heartbeat to slow back to its normal rate. "Ok," she considered, "that's a good idea." She took a deep breath. "Oh, Taurik, I'm so excited!"

"That is apparent."

"I have dreamed about finding Hamunaptra ever since I was a little girl, and now I'm finally going to do it!"

"You do not know that for certain," he cautioned. "Enthusiasm should always be moderated with reason, Miss Broussard. Otherwise, you are setting yourself up for an emotional downfall. I would not wish to see such an event transpire."

Marianne frowned. "You are right, of course, Mr. Taurik," she admitted reluctantly. "But I have a wild heart, and it cannot be broken."

"Being broken is not the same as being disciplined," he countered coolly. "Perhaps some day you will learn that." He urged his camel forward, ending the conversation, and leaving her behind to ponder his words.

Marianne was mostly silent for the rest of the day, absorbed in the study of her notes. She was not pleased by what had been said to her, but she seemed to take it seriously. Taurik wondered if he had been too hard on her. She was human, after all. It was true that she was excessively passionate, even for a human. But she also had an inventive and sharp mind, which was quite capable of logical thought, as demonstrated by her academic achievements.

Once again Taurik found himself often glancing over at Marianne. And once again, she did not notice him. She hardly looked up from her PADD the entire day, even during the breaks. Taurik sighed to himself. He sincerely hoped he had not irreparably damaged their budding friendship.

* * *

The body arrived at the location that evening. To everyone's astonishment, there were already other people digging at the very spot. John and Marianne exchanged furious looks, and kicked their camels into a swift gallop. Taurik remained calm, though he encouraged his camel to quicken her pace. He was quite curious to see how this encounter would play out.

"Let me handle this, Marianne," said Johnny when they reached the scene. She shook her head in repugnance, but proceeded no further. Taurik dismounted, and discreetly put himself between Marianne and the impending action. He braced himself for whatever Johnny was going to drag them all into. He was able to quickly identify the leader, who was standing at the top of a sand dune, overseeing the work. No one had heeded their approach.

Johnny boldly walked up to the boss. The man was dressed in Bedouin robes, which were blowing in the gentle evening breeze. As Johnny ascended the dune, the man perceived him and rotated suddenly. His face was covered with his _keffiyah_, and he did not bother to pull it down when he saw the caller.

"Ok, buddy," John addressed him forcefully, "just what the hell are you doing here? This is our dig site!"

"I have permission to be here," the stranger placidly held up a PADD, "Do you?"

"Duh!" he raised his hands in the air, "Or we wouldn't have come all this way through a bone-dry wasteland!"

"That does not prove anything, my friend," the intruder retorted.

John took the PADD Taurik handed to him and waved it at the other man.

The stranger bowed his head. "It would appear, then, that we have both obtained the proper permits, sir."

Johnny crossed his arms and looked at Taurik, not knowing how to respond. The Vulcan gave him a look in turn that said, "You wanted to handle this, O fearless leader."

"Gentlemen," said the mysterious man as he removed the veil from his face. His olive-toned skin and upswept brows indicated that he was not from Earth. "The sun is going down. Let us retire to my tent, and we can discuss this matter like civilized beings."

"That is a wise suggestion," said Taurik, taking charge and diminishing the chance that Johnny would put his foot back into his mouth.

"I suppose the proper greeting would be 'live long and prosper'?" the man queried.

"That _is_ traditional," Taurik answered diplomatically, "but not required."

"I am not one to disrespect tradition, so I offer it."

"Peace and long life to you," Taurik formed his hand in greeting of his people.

Rahat's back straightened when he beheld Marianne. "Hello, what have we here? I'm Rahat el-Ajam" he at last introduced himself. "And who might you be, Miss?"

"Marianne Broussard, Mr. Rahat," she said with a thin smile. She took the hand that he held out to her, and descended from her camel. It was not difficult for Taurik to see that Marianne was both charmed by and inquisitive about this Rahat el-Ajam, and vice versa. For his part, Taurik was merely inquisitive.

To everyone's further surprise, Rahat smiled dashingly. "It is always a pleasure to meet a lady as lovely as you, Miss Broussard," he said, kissing her hand.

Marianne's jaw fell slowly, and her bronze cheeks flushed at the compliment. Had Taurik not possessed the discipline that he did, he probably would have been as equally crestfallen to see another Vulcan smile.

"Is something wrong? I hope I have not offended you," Rahat asked, knitting his brows. And then he smiled again. "Oh," he realized, "I'm not a Vulcan, if that's what you're wondering."

"You mean you're a Romulan?" she asked excitedly, her beautiful brown eyes blinking rapidly.

"Half-Romulan, actually," he shrugged with feigned indifference. "My mother is human. She's Egyptian, in fact, a descendant of the pharaohs of old. Probably why I am so interested in Egyptology, I suppose."

"Gimmie a break!" Johnny mumbled, almost inaudibly. Taurik repressed an agreeing grunt. Rahat was audaciously bragging in an effort to impress Marianne. No—it was not logical for Taurik to react in any way whatsoever to this. But he felt somehow responsible for and protective of Marianne. He was a Starfleet Cadet and she was a civilian, for one thing. What's more, she was the type of woman who obviously got into trouble easily. And Taurik could see that Rahat was trouble. John at least agreed with him. Was there another emotion stirring inside him? Rivalry, perhaps? No. Certainly not.

They followed Rahat to his tent. "You'll have to excuse my awkwardness. I wasn't expecting any guests. My mother, of course, would say it is no excuse. Please, sit." He fumbled around in his chest and produced the elements for a coffee ceremony.

"So," he rubbed his hands together while waiting for the beverage to brew, "we have Taurik of Vulcan, a Starfleet cadet on summer break. And John—excuse me—Johnny Norris—where did you say you were from?"

"Kansas City," he said proudly.

"Ah, the Kansas or Missouri side?" Rahat inquired.

"Kansas, of course."

Rahat chucked, "A 'jayhawker' is the informal designation, I believe?"

Johnny laughed with him, "Yeah, that's right."

"And last, but most definitely not least, Miss Marianne Broussard," Rahat spoke in awe, as though an angel had come down from heaven to speak with him. "From New Orleans, I dare say."

"Yes," she smiled.

"My second guess would have been New York, judging from your accent, but then you have decidedly Southern traits. And you have a French name," he added with a grin. "Tell me, are you what is referred to as a 'Cajun'?"

"Actually, I'm a Creole girl," she answered.

"How enchanting," the Romulan mused.

"You have not given us very much information about yourself," Taurik interrupted.

Rahat tore his gaze away from the Marianne. "Well," he shrugged, "there isn't much to tell. I am the son of a Romulan officer and the human lady he fell in love with."

"That's so romantic," said Marianne dreamily.

"I have always thought so," Rahat said with a crooked smile. "My mother told me stories of ancient Earth when I was a child. The tale of Hamunaptra and its destruction was my favorite. I have dreamed of finding it ever since. You can well imagine my delight when I stumbled upon the works of Mrs. O'Connell."

A tense silence came over the host and his guests, as "the matter" they came to discuss had not been resolved yet. The coffee was ready at this point, so Rahat promptly served it to them. "You'll find this stronger than the coffee in New Orleans, I fancy. And it is certainly stronger than the rainwater that is peddled out in the Midwest. No offense intended, of course," he said to John.

"None taken," the Kansan shrugged casually.

"Mr. Rahat," Taurik said. "I believe it is time to come to the point."

Rahat's tone immediately became more businesslike. "Very well, Cadet. I will be frank. I arrived here first, so the discovery is mine. However," he raised his hand when Marianne and John opened their mouths to protest, "I am not an egocentric man. For the sake of advancement in the knowledge of history, I am willing to share this find. Much more can be accomplished if we work together. What do you say?"

"That is a fair arrangement," Taurik assented. He realized that he was the only person in the group who did not have an emotional attachment to the whole enterprise. Thus, logic, as well as his Starfleet training, dictated that he would have to be the mediator.

"I agree," Marianne swallowed her pride and supported Taurik. He nourished the hope that it was a sign that she had forgiven him.

"Sure, it makes sense," said John reluctantly.

"Then it is settled," Rahat poked at the campfire. "Our ancestors would be proud, Mr. Taurik."

The Vulcan nodded, "Yes."

Johnny leaned back and chuckled. "Speaking of lines of ancestry, we met this crazy woman in the marketplace at Luxor…what was her name again?" he looked at Taurik and Marianne.

The Romulan looked up from the fire, "Qismah?" he asked, though he appeared to already know the answer. He chuckled when they answered in the affirmative, "Yes, I have met her, too. The Medjai have been watching me from the moment I arrived here. So she was in town this morning? My, they do move quickly."

John laughed with Rahat. "Yeah, well, she was raving on and on with her prophecies of non-Earthers resurrecting the dead, and the 'wiles of females' and such."

"My mother believes in that sort of nonsense," Rahat scoffed, wagging his head. "It perturbs my father to no end. I agree with him when it comes to that sort of thing."

"Do you believe the Medjai pose a threat?" Taurik asked.

"No," Rahat answered confidently. "Unless, of course, we give them the impression that we're going to start bringing mummies to life."

**(I don't own Bizet's _Carmen_, or Bing Crosby's _Song of the Dawn_)**


	4. Of Whist and Ancient Spells

**A special thanks to 0afan0 for your invaluable assistance with my writer's block. I could not have done it without you!**

**In response to "The Mad Hatter," yes, as a matter of fact there will be whist in this story! It's my favorite game, so I of course had to add it. **

"**Taurik's Bride," that's an interesting name with which you chose to sign your review! Thank you to all who left those other fun and creative reviews! **

The digging progressed at a tediously slow rate. "This is nothing," Johnny explained to Taurik. "It must have been like watching paint dry in the twentieth century when O'Connell supposedly first discovered the city. Everything had to be dug out by hand. Nowadays, we just need people diggers for the delicate parts."

"That is indeed fortunate," Taurik agreed, though he was not paying much attention to what John was saying. His thoughts were instead focused on Marianne. Ever since Rahat had joined the team, the two were practically inseparable. So much so, that Taurik had barely had more than two words spoken to him by her. He found it difficult to bear, and it made him regret even more his harsh words to her during the trek to the site, even if they were true.

The Vulcan observed as Marianne and Rahat discussed their similar childhood dreams of discovering Hamunaptra, their career accomplishments, and their hopes for the future. They sat in the shade of the awning, while the digging machines performed the task of uncovering the lost city. Rahat was again bragging, this time about his previous discoveries.

"That's so amazing that you found Imhotep's tomb," Marianne said, slightly envious. "I mean, people have been searching for it for over four hundred years!"

"It was going to be found by someone eventually," Rahat replied with false modesty, "it just happened to be me."

"It's still impressive," she smiled bashfully.

Rahat held a finger in the air. "But there is something much more interesting I found at Saqqara that I wish to show you," he said mysteriously.

"Oh?" she asked.

"Wait just a moment," he said before he dashed into the tent.

Taurik seized the opportunity that presented itself. "Miss Broussard," he began slowly. "I hope I did not offend you on the journey here. I assure you that was not my intention."

Marianne nodded. "What you said was true, Cadet," she acceded. "And I apologize for reacting the way I did."

"In return for your acknowledging so, I will venture to say that I was overly critical of you," he said. "I judged you by Vulcan standards. That was erroneous of me."

She smiled thinly and her eyes started to shine in the setting sun. She fully understood the significance of a Vulcan admitting he was wrong _and_ apologizing for it. "Thank you for saying so, Cadet."

"Then our relationship is repaired?" he asked optimistically.

"Our _friendship_ is repaired, yes," she specified with a caring smile.

"I am pleased to know that," his heart lightened as held his hands behind his back.

Just then, Rahat returned with a parcel, which was wrapped in a brown cloth. He set it down in front of Marianne. "Open it," he said, grinning boyishly.

She narrowed her eyes at him quizzically, and then unwrapped the object. It was a large book made of a precious metal, silver was Taurik's guess.

"Where did you find this?" she gasped.

"What is it?" Taurik asked.

Her bewitching brown eyes sparkled excitedly when they met Taurik's, which caused his heart to skip a beat. "This is the Book of the Dead!" she practically squealed. She repeated her question to Rahat.

"It was near Imhotep's tomb," the Romulan answered, crossing his arms casually, "lying in the middle of the desert."

"I can't believe it," she breathed reverently. "Have you announced this find yet?"

"Not yet," he said, "I wanted to announce it along with finding Hamunaptra." He sat down next to her. "Your name will be along side mine in this discovery now, Miss Broussard," he said with a devilish smirk.

For once, Marianne did not notice Rahat's flirting with her, however. She ran her fingers along the seal where it opened. "Do you have the key to this lock?" she asked hopefully.

"Well…" Rahat began sheepishly. Taurik dastardly allowed himself secret satisfaction from the fact that Rahat had finally fallen short of his arrogant boasts.

Just then, John came running up to the tent. "Look what I've found!" he announced. "I think it's a key of some sort."

* * *

Two days later they found a step. Another step was uncovered. And then another, and another. Soon a massive staircase was reclaimed out of the sand.

"Hmm," Rahat rubbed his chin as he studied the computer screen. "It looks like this is all that is left of the city. So it really was destroyed," he lamented.

"There are thousands of small objects scattered about, however," Taurik said. "Perhaps you will find something of value among them. The fact that you have confirmed that this was indeed Hamunaptra is a significant discovery in its own right."

"Taurik is right," Marianne said with a friendly smile in his direction, "Good things often come in small packages."

It was two days before Taurik had to leave to start his classes in Cairo that a momentous discovery was at last unearthed. A sarcophagus was found, buried in the rubble of what was the lost necropolis of Hamunaptra. It was a grand, ornate coffin, obviously that of an important Ancient Egyptian, though not a pharaoh.

"He's Imhotep! I know it," Marianne insisted. "Look! The sacred carvings and spells have been chipped off. Who else could he be?"

"It is certainly probable," Rahat admitted. He was professionally skeptical, though barely able to contain his personal excitement. John agreed.

As Taurik was new to this field of study, he naturally had questions. "Who was this Imhotep?"

John took to the role of enlightening the Vulcan. "Imhotep was a high priest of Amun-Ra. He was also significant because he suffered the Hom-Dai," he explained. "His name and the sacred spells on his coffin are chiseled off because he was condemned in the afterlife as well as in his own life."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Why?" he asked.

"That's where no one seems to agree," Rahat said with relish. "Some say it was because of his blasphemous relations with the pharaoh's daughter."

"And others say she was a priestess of another cult, that of Isis," Johnny said.

"We only know for sure that her name was Anck-su-namum," Marianne summarized. "When she died prematurely, Imhotep forsook the cult of Amun-Ra, in favor of the cult of Anubis."

"The god of death and burial," Taurik recalled from his preliminary studies.

"Yes," Johnny said. "He hoped to bring her back to life by the secret incantations contained in the Book of the Dead. But he was discovered before he could complete the profane ritual, and condemned."

"That's why he was not buried in his own tomb," continued Rahat. "Instead, he was mummified alive, and his tongue cut out, poor fellow. He was supposedly buried here at Hamunaptra, so that Pharaoh's guards could keep an eye on him. The Medjai claim to be the descendants of those original guards."

"So Imhotep is the victim to whom Qismah was referring? Why would he need to be guarded for thousands of years?" the Vulcan asked.

Rahat nodded in confirmation of his first question. "The Egyptians believed that if a victim of the Hom-Dai were brought back to life, he would conquer the earth and make the human race his slaves," he described with visible amusement.

"Then it is illogical to condemn a person to this Hom-Dai if it is thought to be so dangerous," Taurik concluded.

"That's why it was almost never performed," Marianne explained. "It was the ultimate punishment because his soul could never be at peace. But at the same time, it was dangerous because of the potential of his being resurrected. To our knowledge, Imhotep is the only person to ever suffer this curse."

"Intriguing," the Vulcan mused. "How will you be able to confirm that this was Imhotep?"

"Well, there's no definite way," John began.

"Yes, there is," said Rahat. "Imhotep may not have been buried in his tomb, but his sarcophagus was still used for his burial. They simply removed his name and the spells. We can compare the markings here to those in his tomb at Saqqara."

"That's an excellent idea!" Marianne said admiringly. "You're so brilliant, Mr. Rahat."

"I have my moments," Rahat shrugged, smiling his usual, crooked grin.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" said John, "Let's open it and find out!"

"You do the honors, Johnny," said Marianne.

John clapped and rubbed his hands together. "Ok, here we go," his Kansas twang was fully noticeable, as he was both excited and nervous. Cautiously, he began cutting the seal of the sarcophagus. After he had made a groove all the way around, he motioned for the others to help him. "Gimmie a hand here, you guys."

Taurik and Rahat helped him open the lid with their anti-gravity tools. They could hear the sound of air rushing into the coffin as the lid was lifted.

Marianne shook her fists giddily. "Oooh, I've dreamed about this ever since I was a little girl!"

The Vulcan cocked his head. "Indeed, Miss Broussard?" he said, a miniscule amount of comicality his tone. "You dream about the dead? How odd."

John and Rahat nearly dropped the lid when they started laughing. "Taurik!" John burst out, "Did you just make a wisecrack?"

"And whoever said Vulcans don't have a sense of humor?" Rahat chuckled.

Marianne shined her gorgeous smile at Taurik again. "That was pretty funny, Cadet. I didn't know you had it in you."

"I was merely taking your remark to its logical conclusion," he deluded, though it had indeed been his intention to amuse her.

"Sure you were," John said wryly as they lowered the lid to the ground.

The tetrad curiously peered into the open funerary box. The mummy lay inside, completely intact. The two humans and half-human gasped.

"Correct me if I am wrong," ventured Taurik, "but this sarcophagus does not appear to have been opened before now."

The other three shook their heads. "It hasn't," Marianne confirmed.

"Then Evelyn O'Connell didn't really find Imhotep after all," Johnny said in wonder.

"Or," Rahat folded his arms, "this man isn't Imhotep…" He paced over to where the lid was lying. "The more I look at these markings," he ran his fingers along the surface, "the more I begin to see they are different from the tomb at Saqqara. Yes!" he snapped his fingers, "I can see it now! They _are_ different."

Marianne examined the mummy again. "He _does_ appear to have been a priest," she reasoned, "and the Hom-Dai was clearly performed."

"So ol' Imhotep wasn't the only person to have this done to him," Johnny regretfully concluded.

"Apparently not," said Marianne sadly.

"Well," Rahat said suddenly, in an attempt to lighten the mood, "we should keep digging and hope we can discover this man's identity. In the meantime, I believe this is cause for celebration. And I have just the thing—assuming, Cadet," he eyed Taurik suspiciously, "that you will not turn me in."

"That depends on what it is," he replied, though he had already guessed it.

Rahat laughed. "Of course you won't, Taurik!" he went into his tent. After a moment, he returned with a bottle of azure liquid. "This," he proudly held the container up, "is a part of my culture and heritage!"

"Romulan ale!" Johnny was practically woozy with astonishment. "I've always wanted to try that stuff, man."

"And tonight you shall, my friend," he said, slapping Johnny on the shoulder, "but I warn you, it is extremely potent."

* * *

Marianne stirred the roux carefully. It was a light tan at this point, and she estimated that she was about at the half-way point before it would reach the color of chocolate. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Maybe gumbo was not the best choice for dinner in this heat. But Rahat and Johnny had pleaded with her to make it anyway. Even Taurik expressed a desire to try it.

Rahat studied the browning oil and flour for what must have been the hundredth time. "How long do you have to stir it?" he wondered. He looked up from the pot and regarded her with a puppy dog pout.

"As long as it takes," she answered quickly. "Finish chopping those vegetables," she commanded him.

The Romulan bowed graciously and went back to the bell peppers. Johnny was slicing onions, celery, and garlic, while Taurik was working on green beans, eggplants, okra, and collard greens.

"Authentic Louisiana gumbo…" said Johnny dreamily.

"The vegetarian version, of course," Marianne added with a smile in Taurik's direction.

"I appreciate your consideration," the Vulcan acknowledged, efficiently and perfectly chopping the produce. _He would make a great chef_, Marianne thought.

"It's too hot for meat anyway," Rahat said.

The gumbo turned out exceptionally well. It was the first time she had ever tried to make a vegetarian gumbo, but she kept that part to herself. Happily, the tent had a cooling device, so they did not get too hot from eating the gumbo. After dinner, they cleaned up and Rahat broke open his ale.

"You're certainly a man of many talents, Mr. Rahat," Marianne said, "How did you get this anyway?"

"I have my sources, as I'm sure you well know," he replied with a flirty wink as he poured some in her glass. "And you can drop the 'mister.' We're comrades now, fellow discoverers!"

They passed the bottle around, and before they knew it, they all felt warm and tingly, despite the cooling night air.

"C'mon, Marianne," insisted a slightly inebriated Johnny, "let's have a song!"

"You sing, too?" Rahat lit up, choking on his drink.

"Miss Broussard has an exceptional soprano voice," Taurik informed him.

"Now that I know this," said Rahat with an irresistibly charming smile, "I simply must hear you!" His voice was getting louder, for the ale was taking effect.

Marianne blushed. And then she realized that she had not sung at all since they arrived. He was so handsome and persuasive, how could she say no?

_Candlelight dies at the window  
And the night wind blows soft from the sea  
Though I lie in your arms, I'm a thousand miles away  
On the waves sailing fast, sailing free._

_Now my heart is the heart of the ocean  
There are storms from the sea in my soul  
I'm restless and deep  
And before I can sleep  
I must go... where the black waters roll  
_  
"I like it," Rahat said after she finished. "Since I have always lived in a desert, songs of the sea are particularly drawing to me. And Taurik is right," he said in awe, "your voice is as beautiful as you are."

Marianne could feel that her face was burning. Rahat seemed to have that affect on her, especially since he was never shy about compliments. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Taurik stir ever so slightly.

"Forgive my boldness, Marianne," Rahat apologized, slightly embarrassed, "the ale, you know…I told you it was powerful," he chuckled nervously.

"Have any of you ever played whist before?" Johnny suddenly asked, whipping out his deck of cards.

When they answered in the negative, Johnny insisted on teaching them. Marianne found the situation to be quite funny, the fact that they were all intoxicated and trying to learn a new card game. She had never tried Romulan ale before, so she had no idea how it might affect her. But they managed to play and have a marvelous time. It was enjoyable to be the only woman there, with Rahat and Johnny debating over which should be her partner first.

Taurik was silent. Though her observational skills were usually keen, the alcohol made it difficult for Marianne to read him. The Vulcan turned out to be a brilliant whist player, with his mathematical mind and acute memory. When it was his turn to be her partner, she noticed for the first time that he was watching her very closely from across the way. It was a necessary component of playing the game, but she could not help feeling that there was more behind his impassive mask. Was her theory about him having a crush on her correct? Or perhaps it was her drink, which she knew had an infamous reputation.

She and Taurik made an unstoppable team. They achieved a small slam in the first hand, and ended up taking the rubber. Since they both had perceptive temperaments to start with, they worked well with each other. They both knew when to take the lead, and when to allow the other to do it. John and Rahat were skillful players, but not nearly as observant. In addition, they had both consumed a vast deal more ale than Taurik and Marianne.

Taurik placed his four remaining cards down on the table, signaling his taking of the rest of the hand. _That wily Vulcan_, Marianne thought admiringly.

Rahat laughed and threw his cards down. "I think I've had enough for one evening."

"Enough of playing cards, or of your 'culture and heritage'?" Taurik asked serenely. That caused Rahat to laugh even harder, and John and Marianne joined him. Taurik's dry wit was speedily becoming an enduring quality, especially in Marianne's eyes.

"Both, I imagine!" the Romulan admitted jovially.

"I'm no good at this game, either," Johnny yawned. "I'm going to bed now."

"And I shall follow your example," said Taurik reluctantly, "I have not meditated today yet. Goodnight."

After they left, Marianne leaned back in her chair. "So, I'm dying to know, what's it like on Romulus?"

"Actually," Rahat said, "I don't know. I've never been. Because of the political situation, surely you can understand why my father was never able to take me there."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," he insisted, "I'm not. I consider Earth to be my home, Egypt in particular. This is where my heart is. If I ever had the chance to go to Romulus, I would, of course; but it will not devastate me if the chance never comes, either. What about you?" he asked, entranced. "How does a jazz singer from New Orleans end up studying to become an Egyptologist anyway?"

"Hmm," she considered. "I suppose it started when I was a little girl, when I found a book about ancient Egypt at the library. I wanted to learn more, and I read every book I could get my hands on. By the time I reached college, I already knew what I wanted to do."

"And how does being a jazz singer fit into all of this?" he leaned forward.

"Well, I _am_ from New Orleans," she said, "so that was bound to rub off on me in some form or another. It's a fun hobby, which happens to pay the bills."

"I can understand that," he chuckled knowingly.

"Speaking of books," she said as she reached for the Book of the Dead, which was in a box by her feet. Rahat handed her the key, and she opened it.

"Are you at a point yet where you can sight read?" he asked, locking his fingers together.

"Oh, yes," she smiled proudly, turning the heavy pages carefully. "I was able to do that before I finished high school."

Rahat sighed deeply. "You truly are an amazing woman…"

Marianne's mouth ran dry. The climate _was_ rather arid. The way he looked at her made her heart race. Rahat was charming enough when he was sober, but now… Liquored up, he was a veritable dreamboat.

"Read it, Marianne," he taunted flirtatiously, "I dare you."

**(I don't own the _Heart of the Ocean_ by Gaelic Storm.)**


	5. An Incident at Hamunaptra

Taurik's eyes popped open and he gasped. He realized that he had fallen asleep while meditating. Odd, he had not done that since he was an adolescent. Rahat's and Marianne's low voices had stopped. All was silent, and there was no breeze. He felt strangely uneasy, nervous, as though some impeding doom was hovering over him. _Illogical_, he told himself. He stood up and went outside his tent.

Rahat lay reclined in his chair at the table under the awning, breathing heavily. Marianne and Johnny were asleep in their tents. All appeared to be well. Yet it was not well. Something was not right. Taurik shook his head rapidly. He forced his body to relax and went back to his tent. He laid his head down, and after a while, fell back into a restless sleep.

* * *

"Taurik!" Marianne screamed. She was being attacked, but he knew not by whom. He tried to go to her, but his limbs would not move. There were no bonds, he was simply paralyzed. All around him was evil, taunting laughter. Marianne's voice was fading. "Help!" she called, reaching for him. "Taurik!"

"Marianne!" Taurik awoke with a start for the second time. It had been the most disturbing dream of his life. He was perspiring, despite the coolness around him. The dream was so vivid that he found he was still concerned about Marianne, as irrational as it was. He got up and went over to her tent. Upon lifting the flap, he saw that she was indeed inside. He noted with relief that her chest was slowly rising and falling. _Ridiculous_, he scolded himself. He would never drink Romulan ale again.

He made his way over to the makeshift kitchen and helped himself to another bowl of gumbo from the pot. It was still warm, he noted with satisfaction. As he sipped it, he realized that he probably would never taste Marianne's delicious gumbo again. It was regretful, though not as regretful as not seeing her. Tomorrow was when he had to go back to Cairo. He permitted himself a small sigh. He would miss her, raging emotions and all. He would miss her singing. Most of all, he would miss her beautiful brown eyes and disarming smile.

What would happen to her? he wondered. Then he reached the conclusion that, in all likelihood, she would enter into a romantic relationship with Rahat, who would in the end "break her heart," as humans said. Rahat was not a malicious person, Taurik conceded, but he was not a responsible person, either. The worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it. It was not any of his business, and yet… He admitted that he had been concerned for her welfare ever since he met her that day in the library.

Taurik could not lie to himself by pretending that she did not move him. In addition to her given physical attractiveness, he held her academic abilities and achievements in high regard. Despite her tempestuous emotions, she had already demonstrated on multiple occasions that she was indeed capable of rational, and at times brilliant, thought.

He set his bowl down quickly. A disturbing revelation had suddenly dawned on him. He was in love with her, he realized. He, sensible and reasoned Taurik of Vulcan, was in love with Marianne Broussard, the most impassioned human he had ever met. A twinge of fear began to creep up. Was this the beginnings of the blood fever? He had not yet experienced his first _pon farr_, so he did not know what exactly to expect. At the same time, however, he could honestly assure himself that he was not experiencing any of the described symptoms.

No, he was genuinely in love with her, he deduced. It was as simple as that. The solution was also as simple: he must forget her. She was not interested in him as a mate, as her attentions were instead drawn in Rahat's direction. He was a Starfleet cadet. She was studying to become an Egyptologist. Once he left Egypt at the end of the summer it was most unlikely that their paths would ever cross again.

Taurik stoically resigned himself to the logical course of the matter, and lay back down in his sleeping bag. Disappointment began to well up in his heart. He firmly suppressed it and for the third time went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, they all awoke with hangovers. As Rahat and Johnny drank the most the night before, theirs were particularly acute. Taurik sat down at the table. Marianne was busy in her daily self-appointed task of making breakfast for everyone. She was normally bubbly and upbeat, but that morning she was considerably more subdued. "Good morning, Miss Broussard," he said to her.

Marianne set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Good morning, Mr. Taurik," she said with a small smile before returning to the task of slicing some fruit. Taurik sipped the coffee with satisfaction. His headache was at last beginning to fade. "Have you recovered from last night's…festivities?" he asked.

"Still recovering," she responded softly, "but I imagine that Rahat and Johnny will be feeling much worse this morning."

"I agree," he said.

Right on cue, Johnny staggered out of his tent and headed for the table. "Just shoot me now," he moaned as he sat down. His face fell forward onto the table. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled.

Several minutes later, Rahat slowly approached the dining area. He had come from the work tent. "The mummy," he said slowly, "is gone. And so is the Book of the Dead."

"What?" Johnny and Marianne cried out in disbelief.

"Don't…yell," Rahat winced, holding his hands to his temples.

"What do you mean 'gone'?" Johnny demanded.

"Just what I said: gone!" Rahat snapped indignantly.

The crew made their way to the sarcophagus. As Rahat stated, the coffin was indeed empty. The workers were chattering in Arabic all around them. As part of his preparatory studies for living on Earth, Taurik had learned French and Spanish in addition to Federation Standard English. He had not thought it necessary to learn Arabic at the time, however, so he was not able to understand them. What he was able to discern was the agitation in their voices.

"What are they saying?" Taurik asked to anyone who would answer.

Qismah appeared on the scene without warning. "They are saying that the Creature has been awakened. The curse is upon us" she said bleakly. "What have you done?" She was livid. Taurik met her eyes, and she nodded. "You felt it, too, didn't you?" Her words make his skin tingle.

"Felt what?" He had a strange, yet familiar notion of what she was referring to, but he could not place it.

"I am sorry that I blamed you, Taurik of Vulcan," she said before turning to Marianne. "Are you mad?" she asked her.

Marianne's eyes widened in anger. "I could ask you the same question!"

"Why did you read the spell?" Qismah asked, dismayed.

Marianne guiltily opened her mouth to respond, but Rahat stood between the two women. "Because I asked her to!" he retorted. "She read it because she is a scholar—it's part of her job, you superstitious wench!"

"I knew you were trouble from the moment I saw you," Qismah pointed at him accusingly. "I should have killed you when I had the chance! Now, we are all doomed," she lamented.

"You would not have succeeded," Rahat informed her cockily.

"Romulans are not immortal," Qismah warned, "but the Creature soon will be. Fly now, before you all perish!" She announced as much to the workers in Arabic. They panicked and scattered about like a flock of frightened birds.

Rahat glared at her, and then called out to the men. He spoke rapidly, but calmly. Their alarm seemed to subside, at least for the moment. He then stood threateningly in Qismah's face. "Leave now!" he demanded through his gritted teeth. "I am a gentleman, but you have pushed me to the very limit of decency. Do not cross the line!"

The woman realized that Rahat would tolerate no opposition. She backed down and got on her horse. "We will be back," she vowed. And then she was off.

John sighed. "Do you think she means that?"

"Yes," Rahat responded angrily.

"A police report must be made," said Taurik.

"Taurik is right," Marianne agreed. "We can't have them riding around threatening us. I'm willing to bet they took the mummy and the Book."

"Yeah," Johnny seconded dejectedly, "I think we'll have to postpone the rest of the dig for now. We can wait in Luxor until this blows over. With any luck, the cops will find them within a few weeks, and throw those zealots in the slammer in the meantime."

"Let us hope…" Rahat said sarcastically. It was clear that he did not share John's confidence.

"Oh, Taurik!" Marianne suddenly realized. "You have to leave now to catch your boat in Luxor, don't you?"

"In light of these events," he said, "I think I can be excused long enough to help pack up camp and accompany you back." By no means was he going to leave her there out in the middle of the desert while hostile forces were lurking all around. And there was something about that place that put him on edge. There was no rational explanation, but for the first time in his life, he did not care. He would seek to understand it _after_ they were safely far away from that unsettling vicinity.

Relief spread across her face. "That would be great," she said eagerly.

"Yeah thanks, man," said Johnny.

Rahat visibly swallowed his pride. "It is not necessary, but appreciated."

They all got to work at once. And then it happened, just before noon. The body of one of the hands was discovered behind a rock. He had been "sucked dry," as Johnny described it, though how it happened was anyone's guess. The man had been missing the entire day, and it was believed among the diggers that it had been he who had stolen the mummy before running off during the night. No one said anything, however, because Rahat had given them strict orders not to speak of anything pertaining to "the curse" after the incident with Qismah that morning.

In response, they hastened their packing. Disassembling the base took nearly the entire day. It was soon evident that they would have to travel during part of the night. "The sooner the better," Johnny said irritably, "this place gives me the creeps."

The sun was rapidly descending. Marianne mounted her camel. She had not spoken a single word ever since the body was found. Taurik could see she was terrified. He also perceived that she felt guilty, as though she were somehow responsible for the death, because she had read the ancient incantation. In all the hustle and bustle, no one else took notice of her silence.

"It is absurd for you to blame yourself, Miss Broussard," he said gently. "You and I both know that he was in all likelihood murdered by the Medjai. Ancient spells are merely words. It is irrational to think that they have any power."

"You're right, I know. But Taurik," a tear streamed down her cheek, "I'm so frightened."

"That is a natural reaction to what has happened," he said soothingly. Another tear fell. "Marianne," he said as he lightly brushed it away, "do not be afraid. I am a Starfleet Cadet and therefore will not allow anything to happen to you. You will reach Luxor safely. I promise." His word of honor was of course unnecessary, as Vulcans did not lie. But Taurik had observed that humans found such vows comforting in dire circumstances.

She did find it reassuring. Her tears ceased and she managed a tiny smile. "Alright," she sniffed.

They proceeded to Luxor at a grueling pace, without objection from anyone. The journey went on long into the night. Taurik remained alert, paying attention to everything around him. The full moon rose, casting long shadows across the dunes. The unnamed threat continued to loom over him. It was pursuing them, he could feel it.

At 03:00 hours, they reached the city, completely and utterly exhausted. John checked the four of them into a hotel while Rahat dismissed the workers. Taurik sent a message to Dr. Wasem to inform her that he would not be attending class later that morning. Upon his inquiring of the ferry schedule, he noted that the next boat would be leaving at noon.

"Thank you, Taurik," Marianne said wearily as she went to her room. Taurik's heart sank when she closed the door. In only a few hours, he would depart for Cairo.

* * *

The noon hour came all too soon, and she and Johnny were there at the dock to see him off. Rahat was not there, as he was still at the police station.

John held out his hand. "Hey, it was nice knowing you, man," he said, "Hope we get to do it again sometime."

Taurik paused for a moment, but then took John's hand, returning his firm grip. He had come to consider him a friend. "Likewise, Johnny," he replied.

He turned to Marianne. "With all that's happened," she looked down unhappily, "I never got the chance to write anything for you."

"Perhaps we could write letters to each other?" he suggested optimistically. "Then you will have the chance, Miss Broussard."

"We've been through enough together to be on a first-name basis, don't you think?" She was trying her best not to cry.

"I have no objection to that arrangement, Marianne," Taurik answered. It pleased him, in a sad sort of a way, that his leaving was enough to move her to tears. She hugged him suddenly, and he was barely able to control his startled expression when she kissed his cheek. That was what was done by the Creoles in New Orleans, he remembered reading in Sam's book. She released him when she felt him tense.

"I hope I didn't offend you," she said. Her eyes grew remorseful.

"No, Marianne," he said quickly. "Vulcans do not touch. I was…unprepared. I assure you I am not offended." In truth, her embrace had thrilled him, and it made leaving her that much more difficult.

"Goodbye, Taurik," she said softly.

Taurik held her gaze for several seconds. "Goodbye, Marianne." With that, he turned and boarded the ferry. They waved to him as it pulled away from the dock. All the while he never took his eyes off of her, memorizing her lovely features to be sure he would never forget them, if that were possible. Now that they were going to write to each other, he would most certainly not forget her. He would have to come to terms with his feelings for her, then. It would be difficult, but he was a Vulcan, and therefore in complete control of his emotions. Or mostly in control, at least.


	6. Back to School

**Ok, I decided to try a different format for this chapter, based on 0afan0's suggestion. ****Please let me know what y'all think!**

**I don't know how the Stardate system works, but they're on Earth anyway, so I used regular dates.  
**

* * *

**To Cadet Taurik, Cairo University**

**From Miss Marianne Broussard, Palm Hotel, Luxor**

**10 June 2366**

Dear Taurik,

Johnny and Rahat send their greetings. How is your class? I hope the delay didn't inconvenience you too much. I can't tell you enough how much I appreciated that you stayed longer and came with us back here to Luxor.

As you have probably already guessed, we're still waiting on the pending police investigation before we can go back to Hamunaptra. The three of us have been restless to finish the dig. Rahat and Johnny finished off the rest of Rahat's "culture and heritage" last night. I had a sip to be sociable, but after the last time I don't think I want to have it ever again. Instead, I had a chocolate ice cream stout float. Have you ever tried that? It's simply heavenly!

Now for the bad news. Another of the workers was found dead in his home yesterday—hence our activities last night. He was sucked dry like the last one. The forensics team cannot explain what happened. I wish I had your Vulcan control, Taurik, because this is all so terrifying to me. Rahat and Johnny act like it doesn't worry them, but they're on edge, too. Since when is archeology a dangerous career?

To close on a more positive note, you will be pleased to know that I have used my recent free time to start on a story. It's silly, really, but you said to write what inspires me. I'll try to send it with my next letter. Take care of yourself!

Your friend,

Marianne

* * *

**To Miss Marianne Broussard, Palm Hotel, Luxor**

**From Cadet Taurik, Cairo University**

**12 June 2366**

Dear Marianne,

It pleased me to receive your letter yesterday. My class is going quite well, and consists of twenty-five students. Cadet Hoya and I are the only Starfleet Cadets, as well as the first non-humans to take this course with Dr. Wasam. My experience with you at the Hamunaptra dig has already given me a considerable advantage.

Be assured that the delay was no inconvenience, as the first day was spent going over the syllabi and making introductions. Dr. Wasem understood completely. It was no trouble to accompany you back to Luxor. As I told you before, it was my duty as a Starfleet Cadet to see you to safety.

That is disturbing news indeed. It is good that you are safe, however, and that the police are aware of the situation. With time, the mystery will undoubtedly be solved. Writing is an appropriate solution to your anxieties. I look forward to reading your story.

To partake in Rahat's drink again does not appeal to me, either, I must admit. No, I have never tried a chocolate ice cream stout float, as I did not know of its existence before reading your letter.

I received a message from my roommate, Sam Lavelle. He is enjoying his vacation with his family and will be coming to Cairo at the end of the summer semester. Would you and the others be opposed to my visiting you again, and bringing Sam along?

I will assuredly take care of myself, and look for your next letter soon.

Sincerely your friend,

Taurik

**Taurik's personal log**

**Earlier that day**

The Egyptology class is proceeding with satisfactory results. Dr. Wasem has given me extra assignments from the rest of the class, which are based on my superior abilities, as well as on my previous experience at the Hamunaptra site.

I received a letter from Marianne Broussard today. Another one of the diggers was found dead. Apparently, the cause of his death remains a puzzle to the authorities. Though Marianne is likely quite safe, I must admit I am somewhat concerned about her well being.

Sam called today. He plans to visit me in Cairo at the end of the semester. It was not the most opportune time, as it was immediately after I finished reading Marianne's letter. He noticed my apprehension and questioned me about it, saying that I could not deceive him with my "Vulcan self-control crap." This demonstrates to me that I must re-double my efforts to maintain control of my emotions. I plan to lengthen my meditation time by fifty percent, starting this evening.

* * *

**To Cadet Taurik, Cairo University**

**From Miss Marianne Broussard**

**16 June 2366**

Dear Taurik,

Today was another harrowing day! A third worker was found dead in the street in broad daylight, just like the other two. This time Qismah showed up with her usual prophecies and condemnations. There isn't enough evidence to arrest her, so the police gave her a warning. Somehow, I got the feeling that she didn't care about their warnings.

But where are my manners? How are you? Do you like Cairo? You sound like you're doing well.

We would love for you to come back and see us! You know you don't have to ask. Visit anytime. I have to say I was so happy and excited when I read your last letter! And of course Sam is welcome, too. You've told me so much about him. He sounds like a nice guy. If he's your friend, he must be. Let me know when you're coming and I'll be sure to make a pot of gumbo.

Johnny asks about you often, and I've been keeping him updated with your letters. He's been using his time to catch up on his thesis work.

Let's see, other news…Oh, yes, I almost forgot. We met Rahat's parents the other day. They came to visit him in Luxor, and they seem like nice people. His mother's name is Fatinah, and she certainly is the prettiest lady I've ever seen! She's from one of the Bedouin tribes, but I can't remember their name at the moment. His father is Valen, and he is every bit as charming as Rahat.

As promised, here is my first story. Go easy on me, now!

_The two men shivered as they made their way down the streets of New Orleans. They were both soldiers in the Spanish military. On that unseasonably cold night, one of them was on his way to a new assignment. Corporal Henri Toulon listened carefully to his orders. "Governor Galvez requested you specifically," Lieutenant Antoine Metoyer told him, "though I don't know why. You are to be the bodyguard for his new consort. I have agreed to it because it may be of some benefit to the cause."_

_(…)_

_It was not long before Henri Toulon realized, to his dismay, that he had fallen deeply and hopelessly in love with the woman he was safeguarding. He berated himself for not having been more guarded. It was just his ill fortune, that the first woman he ever loved would be the one woman he could not have. He felt he had betrayed her, as well as Galvez. He was determined, however, that no matter what happened, he would never allow any hint of his feelings to slip. He would carry out his duty, and bury his feelings deep in his heart._

So what do you think? Be honest. I'm eagerly waiting to know your opinion.

Affectionately yours,

Marianne

**Taurik's personal log**

**Same day  
**

Marianne has informed me that a third person has been murdered at Luxor, and the police are still at a loss for answers. Qismah continues to harass my former colleagues, and I surmise she will end up being arrested eventually. My concern for Marianne is growing. The possibility that she may be the next victim…unnerves me.

There is also the matter of her relationship with Rahat. The fact that he introduced her to his parents suggests that he does indeed intend to woo her. Though it shows honorable intentions, I nevertheless continue to have my doubts about his resolve to see it through to marriage. Eventually, she will be emotionally wounded as a result of this association. It is possible that I have completely misinterpreted the situation, but unlikely.

In light of these recent events, I have increased the duration of my meditations by another fifty percent.

Marianne sent me her first story. As I predicted, it is excessively emotional, especially in the romantic sense. However, it shows some promise. I will have to structure my response carefully, as she is dismayed easily. At the same time, I must of course give her a truthful critique.

* * *

**To Miss Marianne Broussard, Palm Hotel, Luxor**

**From Cadet Taurik, Cairo University**

**20 June 2366**

Dear Marianne,

You must forgive me for taking so long to respond to your letter. My studies consume much of my time, as you are no doubt aware.

You may be correct in your surmise about Qismah's determination. I trust I do not need to remind you to take every necessary precaution.

As a Vulcan, and also as your friend, be assured that I will always be honest with you. Your story is rather intriguing. I personally like your choice of setting it in New Orleans during the Spanish colonial period, though it is my assumption that you are not making attempts at historical accuracy. The character of Henri Toulon is somewhat overly sentimental, but his struggle is admirable. I am curious to see how you develop him. This achievement is an important step in your goal of fully developing your abilities, as well as your self-mastery.

Yes, I am doing well. My studies are both informative and engaging. Dr. Wasem is knowledgeable and competent. She speaks very highly of you, and sends her regards.

Cairo is vastly different from New Orleans, as you know. My stay here has been educational, as is the case with every city on Earth I have visited thus far. Overall, I do like this city, to answer your question.

Thank you for accepting my request to visit you and bring Sam. I shall inquire with him about the specifics and inform you once I have been made aware of them. Sam will most certainly enjoy your gumbo.

Rahat's mother and father seem to be decent people, judging from your description of them.

Please give John and Rahat my regards.

I remain your sincere friend,

Taurik

* * *

**Taurik's personal log**

**29 June 2366**

I have not received any communication from Marianne in nearly two weeks. It is curious, as it does not conform to her usual habits. I confess I am somewhat disquieted about her, and she is constantly in my thoughts. Studying and meditation are becoming difficult as a result. If she does not return my correspondence within another week, I intend to call her.

* * *

**Personal Message for Cadet Taurik from Cadet Sam Lavelle**

**2 July 2366**

**18:32 Hours**

Hey Taurik, how are you? Doing fine here. Glad I finally got all my visiting obligations out of the way. Now it's blue skies and fishing in the creek from here on out. Plan to go to a picnic and watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July with this cute girl I met. So what ever happened to that hot singer from New Orleans? I'm telling you, she had a fever for you, man! Ha ha, sorry, I couldn't resist… I don't know when, but we have got to plan a camping trip sometime before we finish at the Academy. I think you'd like it, and when have I ever steered you wrong? Anyway, hope you're having fun learning about mummies. Talk to you later, dude.

**Personal Message for Cadet Taurik from John Norris**

**2 July 2366**

**17:56 Hours**

Taurik, call me back as soon as you get this! Marianne is missing and no one knows where she is! I thought she was off somewhere with Rahat, but he just got back in and he hasn't seen her all day! She's been acting weird for the last few weeks; I'll explain when we talk. Um, well…I really hope you get this soon. Bye.

**(Now who can guess where that passage from Marianne's story came from? He-he!)**


	7. Visiting the Medjai Camp

Taurik spoke to his advisor at Starfleet Academy immediately after he received John's message. He was able to obtain permission that evening to be beamed to Luxor. Before he left, he called Sam and informed him of the situation. His friend insisted on joining him, and would accept no refusals. He likewise arranged to beam over and meet Taurik at the Palm Hotel.

"I'm so glad you're here!" Johnny said to Taurik as he entered the hotel lobby. Rahat was at the bar, with a drink in his hand. He acknowledged Taurik with a nod, and then came over.

"What did you mean when you said that Marianne was acting strangely?" the Vulcan asked, almost too eagerly.

Rahat took a sip of his drink. "There has been another murder," he said.

Just then, Sam walked in the door. Taurik made the introductions. "Guess I get to meet you fellas a lot sooner than we all thought," Sam joked apprehensively.

"Yeah," Johnny replied in the same tone.

"Please continue," said Taurik.

Johnny began. "Marianne was not herself before she disappeared. It's like she'd go in and out of some kind of trance—that's the only way I know how to describe it."

"How long did this go on?" asked Taurik.

"These last two weeks," Rahat answered.

"I've known her for over thee years," John continued, "and I've never seen her like that. It was just plain scary, like she was another person."

"She kept speaking about someone named Kharis," Rahat muttered.

"And we don't know any Kharis!" John practically yelled as he threw his hands up in the air. His actions caused a stir among the hotel staff and guests. The desk clerk shot a warning look at the group of young men.

"Um," suggested Sam, "let's go outside." They followed him to the patio, where there were some tables. In the light of the rising moon, they sat down.

Rahat threw his empty glass onto the pavement in frustration. "This is all my fault," he said angrily. "She was afraid and wanted to leave, but I convinced her to stay."

Taurik completely understood Rahat's chagrin, as he felt exactly the same way. He kept his tone moderated, however. "We should not come to hasty conclusions, Rahat. The search has only just begun."

"Perhaps it is just my Romulan half," Rahat said, clenching his teeth, "but I have no confidence in the so-called authorities!" He began to pace. "I propose that we try to find her ourselves."

"Sounds good to me," Johnny agreed. "They haven't been able to come up with any answers so far."

Taurik thought for a minute. "I am not opposed to it," he decided.

Seeing that the other three had made up their minds, Sam realized that they would rapidly close ranks on any objections. "Ok," he sighed, "count me in." He held his hand up before Taurik could say anything. "Hey, this is what friends are for. You're not getting rid of me."

"So what's the plan?" Johnny asked the committee.

"Qismah is the only suspect we know of at this time," Taurik deduced. "We should seek her out first."

"Yes," agreed Rahat. "I will go to my mother tonight. She will know where the Medjai make camp." He started off in the direction of his camel. "I will return before morning."

"Wait just a minute," insisted John, "None of us should go alone. I'll go with you." Rahat assented with a nod, and the two rode off into the desert.

Sam shook his head and laughed. "Wow, you must really have a thing for this girl, Taurik."

The Vulcan said nothing, but instead responded by lifting a brow. To deny Sam's statement would be lying, but that did not mean he had to answer it.

"You can't fool me, and you know it," the human averred. "So Rahat likes her, too, eh? Are you going to let some Romulan just steal your girl like that?"

At this point, Taurik surrendered to the inevitability that he could not hide the truth from his best friend. "She has clearly chosen him, Sam," he confided at last. "It is not logical for me to attempt to pursue her romantically."

Sam shrugged. "Since when is love logical? Even for Vulcans?" He looked at Taurik right in the eye, with a "man to man" attitude. "I saw the way she looked at you-she's crazy about you! But you haven't even told her how you feel, have you? So she's taking the consolation prize because you haven't given her a reason to choose you!"

"Perhaps you are right…" Taurik considered. Now that Marianne's life was in danger, his earlier excuses for not telling her seemed trivial.

"I _am_ right," said Sam. "Rescue her, and then tell her you care about her. What's the worst that could happen?" He leaned back in his chair. "This will be the second time you help her out of a serious jam, she's not going to refuse to at least be friends. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

Sam's logic was sound. Taurik only hoped that it was not too late to follow it.

* * *

Rahat and John returned just after midnight. "We found out where the Medjai camp," said John. "We can get there in about an hour."

"Let us make haste, then," said Taurik. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam pull something out of his bag. As they made their way over to the camels, his roommate appeared to be blowing into something. And then Taurik guessed it. He sighed as he watched Sam discreetly place the object underneath Johnny's saddle.

Air vulgarly ripped loudly out of the tiny sack as Johnny mounted.

"What was _that_?" Rahat looked at his comrade in disgust.

John froze. "Uh…dunno. Don't look at me!" It was then that Sam burst into hysterical laughter.

"I believe Sam has made use of an object referred to as a 'whoopee cushion,'" Taurik supplied.

"Hey, I was just trying to lighten the mood," said Sam.

Rahat and John at first did not look at all amused. Then John cracked. And Rahat found that he could no longer resist in joining the laughter. For his own part, Taurik thought it was a superfluous waste of time. Marianne could be dead for all they knew, and here they were partaking in juvenile pranks!

"Shall we depart, then?" Taurik deliberately kept the displeasure out of his voice.

They rode out of town, and after forty-eight minutes, the Medjai tents appeared in the distance. It took them another twenty-nine minutes to reach the camp. The guards yelled at them in Arabic, but it was obviously, "Who are you?"

Rahat answered them, and soon Qismah came out of one of the tents. "So now you come to me for help, after you refused to listen to me before!"

"You deny that your people kidnapped her?" Rahat accused.

"She was taken by the Creature!" she claimed. "But you probably don't want to hear what I have to say, so why don't you just leave!"

"Qismah," Taurik addressed her diplomatically, "We _do_ wish to hear what you have to say. If you know anything about Marianne, please tell us."

The woman pouted, considering whether or not she should help them. Insane or not, Taurik did not blame her

"Come inside," she ordered them. They followed her into the tent, and she motioned for one of the others to prepare coffee for their guests.

"So," John began, too anxious to stand on ceremony, "What makes you think 'Imhotep' took her?"

Qismah glared at him for his impertinence. "I never said he was Imhotep!" she snapped.

"You referred to him as "the Creature," said Rahat, "I presume you mean the same one who suffered the Hom-Dai?"

She smiled condescendingly. "Imhotep is not the only person to have been cursed in that manner. He was defeated at Ahm Shere and his body and soul sent forever to the underworld. No, I was speaking of Kharis."

"Who the hell is Kharis?" Johnny and Rahat exclaimed together.

Taurik, as was becoming the custom, played the mediator. "Please enlighten us," he requested.

The Medjai woman began the tale. "Kharis was the high priest of Ra before Imhotep. Like his successor, he forsook the cult in favor of serving the god Anubis. Soon after, rumors began to circulate throughout the land that Kharis had discovered the secret spell that would bring the dead back to life. He wrote the incantation onto a papyrus scroll, which he kept with him at all times. It is said that he was given extraordinary powers. He could change his body in order to assume other forms whenever he wished.

"But his blasphemous delving was eventually found out by Imhotep, who took the scroll and claimed he would destroy it. Unbeknownst to all, however, Imhotep had it copied into a silver book, the Book of the Dead. He then sentenced Kharis to the Hom-Dai."

"Ironic that Imhotep himself is said to have suffered the same fate," Taurik commented. "Curious," Taurik thought aloud, "Can you explain why Kharis murdered those other people?"

"They were the victims that he needed in order to regenerate and gain back his powers," she explained. A feeling of alarm came over the men as she spoke.

"Was Marianne one of those victims?" Taurik was the only one of them brave enough to ask.

"Not likely," she said, "or he would have consumed her life force already. No, he has something far worse for her in mind. He intends to make her his undead bride for all eternity!" This caused Rahat to groan and turn his head away in disgust.

"Gimmie a _break_!" said Johnny.

"You know," Sam said for the first time since they arrived, "if this wasn't so serious, I'd actually laugh at that…"

Taurik was the only one of the party who was willing to humor her, as a theory was beginning to form in his mind. "I am assuming Kharis will need to perform a ritual of some sort in order to accomplish this. Where does he intend to take her?"

"Taurik?" Sam gawked in astonishment, "You're not telling me you actually _believe_ that crap?"

"There is a possible logical explanation for all of this, Sam."

"Alright," said Rahat, "Let's hear it."

"I am no xenobiologist, but it has occurred to me that this 'Kharis' may be a member of an unknown species of shape-shifters," Taurik said. "This would explain the need to feed off of others in order to regenerate. It would also account for the ability to change his form and the other 'supernatural powers' he was said to have had."

"Taurik," said Sam, "You may be right. If it's been sealed inside a coffin for a few thousand years, it would be pretty hungry when it got out."

"Precisely," agreed Taurik.

"But that doesn't explain the need for a spell in order to wake up," Johnny pointed out.

"It may have merely taken time for the being to regain consciousness after being exposed to the air," the Vulcan offered. "I doubt the spell had anything to do with it."

"This is all very fascinating," Rahat interrupted, "but I'd be more interested if Marianne was here contributing to this discussion. Do you know where to find her?" he asked Qismah, this time with considerably more politeness in his tone.

"It is not far," she said. "I will take you there," she continued, after a long consideration.


	8. Taurik to the Rescue!

**Thanks very much to everyone for the reviews! Yeah, I know I haven't updated this story in a while. I haven't forgotten about it, though, just been caught up in other things temporarily!**

"Not far" ended up being a two-hour trek, past Luxor, and on to the Valley of the Kings. Considering the size of the territory that once made ancient Egypt, it was indeed not far, at least from that perspective. Taurik pushed on mercilessly. Aside from Qismah, the others were barely able to keep up, but for once, he did not care. It would keep them from wasting time with superfluous actions intended to "lighten the mood." Every second counted as far as he was concerned. Marianne needed him, assuming she was still alive. He relaxed the lump that formed in his throat at the thought.

It was around midmorning when they came to their destination. Taurik was so distracted that he had lost track of the time. He stole a glance at his chronometer: 11:13:45. He resolved to keep a tighter reign on his emotions, but it was beginning to seem pointless.

"There is nothing else to be found here!" Rahat moaned. "Archeologists have been digging here for centuries!"

"And _archeologists_ know nothing of Kharis," Qismah countered, riding ahead with her chin held high. The Romulan glared after her, but said nothing. No matter how much he loathed admitting it, she was right.

Sam smirked and rode up next to Rahat. "Hey, man, you know why she's like that to you, right?" he whispered. Taurik almost smirked himself. He knew exactly what Sam was up to. For all that his roommate liked to call him a "sly dog," he certainly was one himself.

"Because she's a shrew!" Rahat sneered.

"Well, you know how it is," Sam smoothed, "growing up in the desert and all. I mean, it sounds like a harsh life to me—enough to make just about any girl turn amazon on you."

Rahat immediately dismissed the excuse. "My mother grew up in the desert and she doesn't behave like that!"

"Not to _you_, but you can't tell me she's never acted like that around your dad."

"Well," he thought, "now that you mention it…" He rolled his eyes. "No, Sam! She's a fanatic!"

"She's a _believer_," Sam corrected. "There aren't too many of those left these days, so everyone just assumes they're all crazy."

John chimed in, "Yeah, Rahat. Didn't you tell us that your mom believes in stuff like this, too? Your dad doesn't agree with it, but that doesn't stop him from loving her, does it?"

"…no," Rahat admitted.

"C'mon, man, you don't think she's hot?" Sam wagged his head in disbelief.

"She is attractive," Rahat acknowledged, "I'll grant you that."

"See? There you go," said Sam, resting his case.

"I am _not_ interested in her and that is the end of it!" Rahat snapped as he rode ahead and thus ended the discussion.

Sam turned back to Taurik with a Cheshire Cat grin plastered on his face. "Just helping you out, man," he whispered.

"I suppose I should thank you," the Vulcan answered with just a hint of sarcasm.

"Nah, don't mention it," replied Sam, blowing it off entirely.

Qismah led them to the most famous place in all of Egypt—the burial place of King Tutankhamun. Rahat was barely able to contain his skepticism now. "So what are we looking for?" he asked, summoning all of his patience. Taurik was equally as incredulous, but there were no other options. He was willing to follow any lead in order to find Marianne.

"A secret passage," the woman answered.

"Just like in all those old movies," John mused, riding the current. "Yeah, uh, how do you propose that we find this secret passage? I mean, I've been here dozens of times and I never saw any evidence. Just asking," he added after the look she gave him.

"You must look with different eyes," she responded cryptically.

They approached the entrance. To their astonishment, the gate was already open. Someone had broken the lock. Cautiously, they descended the sixteen stairs down into the catacomb. Taurik firmly repressed the apprehension he felt. _Fear of a tomb is illogical_, he chanted to himself. _The fear of death is illogical. The fear of harm befalling Marianne is illogical…_

"This place gives me the heebie-jeebies," said Sam with a shudder. "How do you guys do this kind of thing for a living?"

"You get used to it," Johnny told him. "Eventually curiosity outweighs the creeps."

"I've never gotten the creeps," Rahat haughtily informed them.

"Sshh!" Qismah commanded. As they were becoming accustomed to her commands, they obeyed. Even Rahat complied with less reluctance. Taurik noticed at the same time as Qismah: there were marks along the floor, and footprints.

"Yeah," said Johnny, catching on. "They clean up every night before they lock this place up."

"So we'll follow these patterns," Taurik finished.

The trail went through the antechamber and then into the burial chamber. John peered through the glass into King Tut's sarcophagus. "Phew! He's still there. Just checking," he grinned sheepishly.

Taurik responded with the characteristically Vulcan lift of a brow. "Under normal circumstances, I would have said that is illogical," he ironically remarked.

The tracks led all the way up to the wall, near the entrance to the treasury room, and apparently came to a dead end. "Bingo," Sam spoke for group. "So how do we open it up? Is there a lever, like in the movies?"

"I say we just bust through," Rahat cut him off.

"That would be an acceptable solution if we had something to 'bust through' with," Taurik pointed out.

Rahat turned to Qismah. "I bow to your expertise," he said, gallantly gesturing toward the wall.

"The niche," she said. "That is the key." She examined the area, while Taurik held the light for her. Upon meticulous scrutiny, they noticed that one of the hieroglyphs was raised slightly. At first glance, it appeared to have been painted onto what looked like an uneven glob of plaster. Qismah pushed on it, and the wall opened as if by magic.

"A primitive weight and counter-weight system," Taurik observed, "Probably operated by rising and falling sand. Fascinating."

"More stairs," said Rahat, "exactly what I expected."

Taurik turned to the others. "I'll go first," he volunteered.

"You won't get any argument from me," John held his hands up.

"Watch out for booby traps," the Romulan warned. "Imhotep's tomb was filled with them."

"A wise precaution," the Vulcan agreed, "though we are obviously not the first ones to enter this passage."

"I'll go next," Qismah met Rahat's eyes boldly. He returned a thin smile and then proceeded down after her. Johnny was next, followed by Sam.

"Yeah, I'll make sure nobody sneaks up on us from behind," said Sam, trying to sound sure of himself. "Um, am I the only one who thinks it's stuffy in here?"

At the bottom of the stairs, the passage split into three directions. Rahat muttered a Romulan curse under his breath. "Looks like we have entered a lovely labyrinth, my friends." He indicated the footprints, "But, like Theseus, we have string to guide us."

"Let's hope we don't run into the Minotaur," said Johnny with a bit of an edge in his voice.

"That is highly unlikely, John," Taurik said calmly.

They went left, following the tracks through the winding passage. At the next junction, the markings led them to the right. Then another left. They made a total of five turns. Taurik's anxiousness was mounting. Why was it that he had such difficulty in keeping control of his emotions whenever Marianne was concerned?

"I hope all of you are paying attention to where we're going," John said apprehensively, "because I'm lost already."

"Don't worry," Sam said confidently, "We've got a Vulcan with us. I have faith in you, Taurik."

"You should never make assumptions, Sam," Taurik responded, trying to distract himself.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, very funny, man. Don't scare me like that."

"I was merely stating a fact," the Vulcan replied in a completely monotone voice.

"Will you people shut up?" Rahat hissed. "Just announce our presence to the world at large, why don't you?"

Before long, the corridor ended and opened up into another large chamber. In the center of the room was a great stone table, which was at the base of a colossal statue of Anubis. Taurik was not able to suppress the rush of air that escaped from his lungs. To his horror, he saw that Marianne was lying on the table. She was completely still.

"Marianne!" Taurik called as they rushed over to her. She did not respond. For a few terrible seconds, Taurik thought that she might be dead. It took every once of strength to maintain his control. Her eyes were wide open. But then he saw that she was breathing.

"Oh, this is just how I was telling you she was earlier," John said to Taurik.

Rahat shook her. "Marianne!" She did not move. "I don't understand. She always snapped out of it when one of us touched her. Marianne!"

There was only one option Taurik could think of. He made his decision quickly. "I believe I may be able to revive her with a mind meld."

"Isn't that risky, Taurik?" Sam put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I am willing to take that chance, Sam," he said. He kept his voice passive, but his eyes were filled with desperation. "We have to get out of this place before Kharis returns." Sam nodded knowingly.

Taurik took several deep breaths to ready himself, and then placed his fingers on her temple, cheek, and chin. He cleared his thoughts and reached out to her. _Marianne?_ He calmly called to her mind.

The rush of her emotions nearly overwhelmed him. _Taurik! You came for me!_ The bond revealed to him that her psyche was as captivating as her physical appearance. In fact, he found her to be even more desirable now that their minds had touched. His feelings for her grew even stronger, in spite of himself.

_Of course I did, _his pneuma answered,_ How could I not?_

He was more prepared for the second tide of sentiment that threatened to flood him again. He could feel her gratitude and the consolation she felt from him being there. And to his surprise, he discovered that there was also a strong affection for him. A _very_ strong affection. She cared for him much more than he had been aware. Indeed, he meant a great deal more to her than Rahat ever could. Sam was right after all.

_Marianne, there is something I must tell you before anything else happens…I love you._

A third wave washed over him. This time, he embraced it. _Taurik…I had no idea. But you don't think I'm too emotional?_

His soul smiled. _That, oddly enough, is precisely what I find the most appealing about you. No amount of reason can explain it, but it is so._

After a few minutes had passed, Taurik severed the mind meld. When he came to, he found that his fingers were wet from Marianne's tears. "Oh, Taurik…That was beautiful…"

"Yes," he agreed. He was lost in her eyes, and completely oblivious to their surroundings, as well as the others.

He was about to say more to her, but he suddenly realized that a new presence was there. It was then that the same foreboding terror descended upon him again. And this time, it was much, much stronger than the previous times. The Creature was there.

"Taurik," Marianne's eyes widened with fear, "It's _him_! He's here!"

"Do not be afraid," he told her quickly. He pulled her close and looked confidently into her eyes. "I am here now and I will not allow him to harm you." In reality, he was not certain how he could do anything to prevent Kharis from carrying out his evil designs. But he had told Marianne the truth, and discovered that she returned his amour. As far as he was concerned, she belonged to him now, and he was all the more determined to protect her.


	9. Kharis

**Thank you to everyone who reads, follows, and/or reviews!**

A powerful-looking man stood in the doorway. But it was obvious that he was not an ordinary man. There was something inexplicably unearthly about him. His eyes were filled with rage, and his scowl was fixed upon Taurik.

"_That's_ Kharis?" Sam gaped.

Qismah nodded grimly. "He's fully regenerated now," she explained.

"Alright, Qismah," said Rahat in awe. "I believe you now. For what it's worth."

"Better late than never, right?" Sam chuckled, trying as usual to make light of the situation.

The Creature roared, and the ground began to shake. Sand from the floor rose up and filled the air, blinding everyone in the process. Taurik shut his eyes and held Marianne close to him. Where the others were and how they were faring, he knew not. And at that moment, there was nothing he could do about it.

Just as quickly, the sand fell back to the floor. Through the remaining dust particles came Kharis, presumably to claim Marianne again. Taurik possessively moved her behind him.

"Not good," said Sam, eyeing the Creature cautiously. "Any ideas anybody? Maybe we can reason with it."

"This creature is the bringer of death," said Qismah, backing away. "He cannot be reasoned with. He will never eat, he will never sleep, and he will never stop."

Rahat groaned. "Oh, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"Nevertheless," Taurik stated, "Sam and I are Starfleet cadets. We must at least try."

As if on queue, Kharis began to speak in what Taurik assumed was ancient Egyptian. Neither Sam nor Taurik had gotten their universal translators yet, so they were unable to understand him.

Behind his shoulder, the Vulcan heard Marianne inhale sharply. "He wants me to come with him," she translated.

"That is not an option," he told her. "I will never let you go again."

Marianne answered, and Kharis spoke again. "He's challenging you, Taurik," she whispered fearfully.

"Tell him there is no need for violence," said Taurik. "We can resolve this situation logically."

Reluctantly, Marianne interpreted the Vulcan's words once again, but before she could finish, Kharis angrily slammed him aside.

Taurik lay on the ground in a daze. He vaguely heard Marianne scream his name, while the being's thoughts rushed through his mind. As he had suspected, the Creature was indeed a shapeshifter. His unspoken theory that he was a telepath was also confirmed.

Kharis was exiled from his world thousands of years ago, for the crime of showing pity to an enemy. He was left on a primitive planet to die in the desert. But he was found by a caravan, and taken to the kingdom of Egypt. This civilization impressed Kharis, and he decided to stay. He was welcomed into the fraternity of the clerics of Ra. After only a few short years, he became their high priest.

And yet, he felt more drawn to the cult of Anubis. Once he joined those followers, he soon discovered that he could in some cases use his mental abilities to revive humans who were thought to be dead. Further still, he learned that humans likewise had the capacity to attain and practice these mental arts.

One such human was his most astute and ambitious pupil, Imhotep. He assisted Kharis in his opus, writing down the words used to focus the human mind. There were several successful cases of bringing the "dead" back to life.

Imhotep eagerly learned all he could from Kharis, but then betrayed him in order to take his place as the cult's leader. He accused his teacher of blasphemy and demanded that he punished with the Hom-Dai. Just before the sarcophagus was sealed, Imhotep revealed that he was in reality one of his own people, and had been sent by the other shape-shifters to ensure that Kharis' punishment was fully carried out. With that horrible knowledge, Kharis lay in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

Until his coffin was found and he was roused. Taurik saw Kharis' thoughts as he moved through the camp. What he first came to be aware of was the fact that his people were all gone. The sorrow and despair at being the last of his race was extreme. And then he heard Marianne's singing. Kharis was entranced. He could not understand the words, but they were nevertheless the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. What's more, he found that her music was the only balm that was able to soothe his pain.

The shapeshifter soon came to realize that he wanted Marianne. Not only because she was beautiful, but also because he needed a mate in order for his race to survive. At the time, however, there were too many others around. He was not yet strong enough to take them on. He would have to wait to claim her.

It was in Luxor that Kharis finally recovered his full strength. He had been watching Marianne for weeks. Taurik sensed the Creature's relief at the memory of his leaving to go back to school.

When Marianne was at last alone in her room at the hotel, Kharis put her in a trance and carried her off. The "mummy" had plans to subdue the Earth, and then move on to other worlds. Taurik could not allow that to happen. In addition to his love for Marianne, he also had his duty.

The vision seemed to have lasted for hours. But when Taurik came to, he saw that the others were trying to stop Kharis from taking Marianne again. Taurik tried to speak, but the wind had been knocked out of him. He took a deep breath, and called to Qismah, who was nearest to him. "The book," he said, getting to his feet, "Find the incantation and read it. I'll explain later."

At once, the girl ran for the Book of the Dead, and boldly snatched it from Kharis, who was occupied with fending off the three men. In his surprise, the Creature released Marianne's arm and turned his attention to Qismah. Grabbing her by the neck, he lifted her up and squeezed, forcing her to drop the object.

Rahat yelled and charged toward him. While they struggled, Taurik picked up the book and gave it to Marianne. She opened it and turned the pages.

"Keep him busy!" she told them. "It will take me a few minutes."

"We don't have a few minutes!" shouted Sam, as he got up after being hurled backwards.

"Inform me when you are about to read the spell," instructed Taurik. Marianne nodded, and he closed his eyes. Holding his hands together, he cleared his mind. He was not as strong a telepath as most Vulcans, but he hoped his abilities would suffice if combined with the support of the "magic words," as well as the knowledge he obtained from the mind link with Kharis.

While she searched, John, Sam, and Rahat continued to struggle. Qismah was still on the ground unconscious.

"Don't forget about the Amenophus character!" Johnny called to Marianne as he dodged a swing. "You always miss that one!"

"Hurry, Marianne!" said Rahat, just before Kharis' fist hit his jaw.

At last, she found the correct page. "Taurik," she nodded to him.

Taurik focused all of his mental energy while Marianne carefully chanted the incantation. Kharis shrieked once he became aware of what was happening. With renewed urgency, he brushed aside the opposition and moved toward her again.

"Speed it up, Marianne!" Sam was desperately hanging onto Kharis' leg. The Creature unheedingly dragged him across the floor.

There was an explosion of light when she finished reading. The shape-shifter howled in horror. Taurik's vision returned just in time to see Kharis disintegrate into dust at Marianne's feet. The last part of him to go was his hand, which was furiously gripping her ankle.

"Taurik," she breathed incredulously, "you did it!"

"We did it together," he corrected her kindly. Before he could utter another word, however, the earth beneath them trembled again. Some of the stones in the wall and ceiling were coming loose.

"Yeah," said Sam, voicing everyone's thoughts. "Time to go!" He looked at Taurik with anticipation. "You do remember the way out, right?"

"Of course," the Vulcan replied nonchalantly. Without another word, he took Marianne's hand and ran. Sam and the others stayed on his heels. The roof of the labyrinth was collapsing behind them as they dashed up the stairs back into King Tut's tomb. The sepulcher appeared to be more stable, but nobody wanted to take any chances.

By the time they made it outside, the ground was still again. Clouds of dust and sand rushed out from the entrance.

"It's going to be fun digging all of that rubble out," Rahat mumbled wryly, "assuming it's even possible."

Johnny smiled crookedly. "And you know they'll call 'the experts' out to come and try it," he said in the same tone, shaking his head with dread. He had no doubt that "the experts" were going to end up being himself and Rahat.

"_Not_ before a vacation," moaned Rahat. "That mess isn't going anywhere," he dismissively waved it all away with his hand.

"You know," Sam mused, half to himself, "I kinda feel sorry for old Kharis…Last of his species and all."

The sun was going down when they mounted their camels to go back to Luxor. Rahat helped Qismah up, and then awkwardly handed her his snack bar. "I…I know it's the time of Ramadan," he said, boyishly brushing his hair back with his hand. "And, you haven't eaten all day…" he trailed off. It was a striking contrast to his usual, ladies' man persona.

Qismah smiled warmly at him, also a departure from her normal behavior. "Thank you," she said as she shyly accepted his gift. Regaining his confidence, Rahat winked at her and then got onto his camel.

Nobody had thought far enough ahead of time to bring an extra dromedary for Marianne, so Taurik held her in his lap. His eyes became fixed on hers, and before he knew it, she had coaxed him into a wistful kiss. He surrendered unquestioningly. It was unreasonable to expect a human to be logical, after all. At least, that would serve as a justification for anyone who objected to a Vulcan indulging in such a disgraceful loss of control. He could think up several more excuses should it prove to be necessary.

No one disapproved, though. Quite the opposite, in fact. Sam and Johnny made kissing noises and teasing remarks. Rahat even added a wolf whistle.

"C'mon, Johnny," Sam goaded, "Howa bout a kiss?"

"No thanks, man," Johnny said, revolted, and not sure if he thought Sam's joke was funny or just plain nasty. Probably both. "I don't swing that way, and neither do you."

The caravan toddled off into the sunset. Not surprisingly, Marianne wanted another kiss. "Your request is illogical," Taurik told her, "but not objectionable." With that, he gladly granted her wish.


	10. Epilogue: Return to the Vieux Carré

**I have to confess, I've been dallying around about writing this chapter because it would inevitably make me homesick. And, of course, it's always sad when a good story comes to an end. Thank you, readers and reviewers!**

The old-fashioned streetcar creaked along the tracks through the night on its way to the French Quarter. It moved slowly past huge live oaks with draping Spanish moss, grand houses with gingerbread trim and lovely gardens, a few schools, and a university. The sweet scent of magnolias drifted in the night air, and crickets soothingly chirped all around them. Even after all that had happened, Taurik naturally still didn't believe in magic. But if ever there was such a place that possessed that quality, it was most certainly New Orleans.

Marianne contently laid her head on Taurik's shoulder and gazed out of the window at the pretty world going by them. Taurik lovingly took her hand into his. Behind them were Sam and Johnny. The former was giving the rest of the gang a narration of the various places they were passing. All the while he was slipping in his favorite comment about Taurik being a "sly dog" for convincing Marianne to marry him so soon. As a matter of fact, they were going to their engagement party at her family's home that very evening.

Behind Sam and Johnny sat Rahat and Qismah. They had all just come from their wedding in Luxor not a week before. Rahat had joined the Medjai brotherhood, and planned to continue his distinguished career. Qismah approved, so long as he promised to give the dead their due respect. Interestingly enough, she had managed to persuade her new husband to follow the tenets of Islam, at least outwardly. It was evident that Rahat would never become a believer himself; but like his father, he respected his wife's beliefs.

Johnny Norris also intended to continue his career, and he would work together with Rahat from then on. Taurik suspected that he had also joined the Medjai, but for once, Johnny kept that matter to himself.

The only one who had decided to change fields was Marianne. It was understandable, since she was the one who had been the center of all that had happened. Instead, she would focus on the more academic aspects of Egyptology, rather than on archeology. After they got married next month, she was going to move to San Francisco while Taurik finished his last two years at Starfleet Academy.

"End of the line!" the car driver announced with a grin when they reached the edge of the Vieux Carré. "Time to get off, y'all!" The passengers, who were mostly tourists bound for the sights, activities, and "traps" of the French Quarter, cheerfully complied with the elderly man's request.

"So this is the French Quarter?" asked Rahat. "It's just like the pictures." Qismah smiled in agreement. It was all very new to her, as she had never before left Egypt.

"I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," Johnny remarked with a wink.

The group walked for several blocks, and turned down Marianne's street. It was not at all far from Sisko's Creole Kitchen, Taurik noted. He had just been to his fiancée's home the day before to ask her family's permission. Mr. Broussard had reluctantly given his consent, though he was astonished that his daughter wanted to marry a Vulcan. Taurik had actually expected more opposition, but was pleased to find that it was not the case.

As they neared the house in question, the sounds of the Broussard party became audible. Instead of entering through the front door, they went through an intricate wrought-iron gate that led to the courtyard. Inside were tables filled with hors d'oeuvres and desserts, as well as a bar over in the far corner. A jazz band was playing in the opposite corner.

"Welcome to our home, y'all," Mrs. Broussard greeted them at the door. Taurik tried not to stiffen his body when she hugged him and kissed his cheek. He knew he would have to get used to Marianne's loud family and their insistence on tactile contact sooner or later. After she gave the others a similar salutation, they made their way first, of course, to the bar.

There were so many people, and they were all eating and drinking and laughing. Aside from Marianne's parents, the only other person Taurik recognized was Mr. Sisko, who jovially raised his glass of champagne from across the patio.

"Marianne!" the nearest tall round man said.

"'Tit Jean!" she smiled happily as they embraced. "Taurik, this is my cousin, 'Tit Jean."

As the Vulcan predicted, the man pulled him into a bear hug. "Welcome to the family!" he said. "You'll have to come over to my house in Breaux Bridge next week to our _boucherie_."

"Well," Marianne tried to explain, "'Tit Jean, I don't know how that will work."

"But, chere, I have de best boucherie in de state. You know dat," 'Tit Jean said indignantly. "Everybody likes it."

"That's not it," she said carefully. "Vulcans are vegetarians. Taurik doesn't eat meat."

His ruddy face soured. "_Quoi? _ He don't eat no meat?" For a few seconds, the noise stopped and everyone starred in shock. But then 'Tit Jean was suddenly ashamed of his rude remark, so he calmed himself and smiled. "Das ok, cher," he said to Taurik, "We have a crawfish boil instead. My sister-in-law has a farm where dey grow dem all year. It'll be just like Lent, yeah." At once the noise resumed and everyone went back to whatever it was they were doing as though nothing had happened.

Marianne smiled at Taurik, silently telling him it was the best 'Tit Jean could do. Indeed, Taurik was not ignorant of the significance of the gesture. "Thank you, Cousin," he said diplomatically. He made a mental note to make sure he ate before they went to 'Tit Jean's house the following week.

"You're welcome, Taurik," said 'Tit Jean, happy to have reached a compromise. "Bring your friends, too, eh?"

"I'm sure they will be pleased to attend," he said. Taurik looked over at his comrades. Rahat had opened the bottle of Romulan ale he brought, and everyone was cheering as a result. Taurik repressed a shudder. Champagne would suffice for him, thank you very much.

He noted with some amusement that Qismah didn't look very happy about it, either. So much for following the Muslim way. Indubitably, she and her husband were going to have a discussion after the party. Taurik was relieved that Marianne would not be making similar demands of him.

"Well, Taurik," said Sam with a glass of the ominous blue liquid in his hand, "Who would've thought we'd end up back in the Crescent City so soon—and for your wedding!"

"Not I," the Vulcan admitted.

Sam's expression became serious. "I'm really honored that you asked me to be your best man, Taurik," he said.

"Say nothing of it. You're my best friend, Sam," said Taurik, "I can think of no one else I'd rather fulfill the role."

"Thanks all the same, man," he lifted his glass and went off to flirt with one of Marianne's relatives.

Suddenly realizing that his intended was no longer at his side, he scanned the area to find her. She was deep in conversation with one of her aunts. Sensing his gaze, she briefly flashed her heart-melting smile at him. Marianne's aunt apparently didn't notice, for she continued to talk incessantly.

The whole experience was certainly very strange to Taurik. His own family was not nearly as large. Gatherings on Vulcan were by nature calm and quiet compared to this rowdy bash. His relatives did not demand instant intimacy; rather, they abhorred it. For Taurik and his family, this marriage was going to be…an adjustment. It was the most irrational thing he had ever done, and perhaps would ever do.

Nevertheless, it was all worth it to have Marianne as his wife. No amount of logic could explain it, but he loved her deeply. Though he would only admit it to her (and perhaps to Sam if he continued to press him), Taurik was the happiest he had ever been in his life. The famous and quite appropriate words came to his mind, _Laissez les bons temps rouler!_


End file.
